by J. S. Morin
“Fine. If you will not fight a girl, prove yourself against the large one. This is your test, though, not his. If you will not fight this one, I will dismiss both of you from my service,” Parjek snarled.
“Of course, Master. I hope to redeem myself in your eyes,” Jovin replied, obviously relieved to be fighting the giant Zellisan instead of the tall but wispy Soria. “No helmet or blade, but you may wear the rest of your armor,” he told his opponent.
Zell grunted a reply, handed Tanner his helm and sword, and stepped forward to meet his opponent. He was a full head taller and twice the man’s heft but, he had seen Soria fight, and was wary of another with her pedigree. He took up a brawler’s stance, crouched just slightly, chin tucked, hands raised in loose fists with his forearms framing his face. He could tighten a fist to punch, but was ready to grab as well; grappling seemed likely to favor him, should the chance present itself.
Soria and Tanner exchanged looks. By a system they had worked out over years of traveling and gambling together, they settled on a wager without so much as a word or hand signal. Tanner favored the Tezuan fighter for two thousand eckles. Soria gave him two-to-one odds in Zell’s favor. Soria had never been able to manage a mind-speaking spell silently, so they had developed other ways to communicate surreptitiously. They had no real worry about their host and prospective employer learning about their wager, but whoever was found to be betting against Zellisan would find themselves on the wrong side of a very large man’s temper should he find out.
The two opponents circled, each feeling the other out. Jovin shot quick punches and kicks at Zellisan to test the big man’s reaction time. Zellisan threw jabs to find his range, and move close enough to hit the smaller man. Zell had little formal training in Tellurak, but had been in many brawls, stretched across decades back to his youth. His Kadrin training included some hand-fighting, but he had never kept up with it, seeing as he always had a blade near at hand.
Jovin landed a kick that Zellisan caught on his forearm, taking it full force to protect his head. His mail coat spread the blow’s force, and probably kept his forearm from breaking.
He doesn’t hit like Soria, though. Must not be able to do that thing with the aether that she says she does.
Jovin tried to follow up with a similar attack, but just feinted as Zellisan hopped back quickly. Zell threw a pair of quick jabs, purposely pulling them short, hoping to confuse his opponent about his reach and draw him a bit closer.
Jovin tried the high kick again, but it was another feint. Zellisan predicted it, and moved forward instead of back. Both men ended up surprised as Jovin’s quick follow-up kick connected with the side of Zellisan’s knee, and Zell managed to grab hold of Jovin’s upper arm. Zell grunted in pain as his knee nearly buckled beneath him; Jovin let out a quick yelp as the larger man followed up by putting his other hand to Jovin’s stomach and lifting him off his feet.
“Enough!” Parjek shouted, just as it looked like Zellisan was going to hurl the Tezuan bodyguard headfirst to the marble floor like a spear. “You have both satisfied my curiosity. I wish to lose no men before the trap has even been baited.”
Zellisan gave the Kheshi man a curious look, then shrugged and set him down on his feet.
“My apologies if I have injured you,” Jovin said.
“Hmph, I’ve had worse,” Zell replied, favoring the leg heavily.
“Daar-Ben, I give you another chance,” Parjek said to the other Tezuan. “You do not get another opponent. You fight or you find a new master.”
“It is not worth losing your job over,” Soria told him mildly, stepping toward the Kheshi she had defeated once already.
“Please forgive me, mistress.” He bowed to Soria and found he was able to take up his fighting posture.
Soria did not mirror it, nor take any stance at all. She merely stood and nodded her readiness to Daar-Ben, who approached her cautiously. With the first tentative punch, he was done in. Channeling aether through her muscles, Soria reacted more quickly than any opponent Daar-Ben had ever faced. She grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him forward right into a side kick, which Soria buried low in his stomach. The blow was hard enough to lift the man from his feet. He wore hardened leather armor, and was trained to tighten his core muscles when hit, but still had the wind knocked out of him. Soria kept hold of his wrist and drew him forward as his legs and lower torso went back, resulting in a cringe from the spectators when he landed spread out flat as he hit the straw mat on the floor.
Soria released his wrist, and Daar-Ben struggled to his hands and knees, again desperate for breath.
“You are hired,” Parjek informed her.
Chapter 13 - Nighttime in the Aether
The jungle undergrowth rustled at Kyrus’s passing. There was just enough starlight passing through the treetops that he was able to find his way without stumbling around by aether-vision alone. Accustomed though he was to watching in both, he was going to have his fill of seeing aether soon enough, and wanted to enjoy the light a while longer, scant though it was in the predawn hours.
His slumber had been restless, first from seeing the aftermath of Iridan and Juliana’s post-marital brawl, then more persistently due to his own worries about the thought of what he was about to undertake. Juliana is fine. Iridan is going to be fine. How will I fare, when someone thinks back to me on the morrow?
Kyrus had thrown on his old tunic, an odd feeling after becoming so used to baring his chest like the Denku natives. He knew he would be wanting it when he arrived in Acardia, though, so he kept it with him. The northern air would be pleasant enough, but not so much so that he would shun the protection that a good layer of wool would afford. The sea breezes were cut down by the jungle trees, but it was not so warm before dawn out of doors; it was better than forgetting about the tunic later.
Kyrus bent low to place a palm-sized stone on the ground. It was adorned with runes he had carved the previous day and infused with aether. The runes did very little, but they were easy to see in his aether-vision. He looked back at the path he had taken, peeking into the aether briefly to align the stone he had just set down with the ones that were already in place. The Denku had little in the way of navigational equipment, but Kyrus was fairly certain his line was good enough to get him to Acardia, if not straight to Scar Harbor.
The first hints of dawn peeked above the horizon, and Kyrus continued to lay his stones. He had a satchel filled with them, and was going to lay them as far as he could, until he ran out of stones or island upon which to place them. It was quiet and peaceful; the earliest risers among the Denku were the fisherfolk and they would not be heading into the jungle.
Will I miss this place? There is the same salt in the air back home, but it smells of fruit and flowers here, not just brine. Winter will come soon, and Denku Appa will scarcely notice the difference, while I stomp through drifts of snow to buy ink for four months of the year in Scar Harbor. It will be good to hear Acardian spoken by native tongues again, though, and to have a few spiced crescents, even if I must sneak into Greuder’s in disguise. I think, though, that if I can have Abbiley with me, I can be happy anywhere.
Kyrus placed another stone, smiling to himself.
* * * * * * * *
Kyrus’s satchel was nearly empty by the time Gahalu found him, late in the morning. The weight of the stones had been wearing on Kyrus’s shoulder, and he was glad to be nearly done with his task. The burden of saying his farewells was not so easily shed, though.
“What are the stones for, Spirit Man Kyrus?” Gahalu asked, suspecting the answer based on the direction he had traveled in following them.
“The spirit world is dark,” Kyrus explained. “I will be going far and lacking for landmarks. I want to be sure of my course before setting off across the Katamic. The stones will shine in the spirit world, giving me a heading to follow.”
“So your time with us is at an end?” Gahalu ventured, watching as Kyrus placed another of his beacon stones, and c
hecked it against the long line he had already placed.
“Yes. Today I will make my journey. My short trials on the beach have been going much better. I can control it well enough now that I think I will be safe even for so long a distance.”
“How soon?” Gahalu asked him.
Kyrus felt as if his heart had already departed the island, and he began to miss his friend before he had even left.
“We can walk back to the village. I will take a midday meal, say my farewells. Then I will gather what little I will take with me and be on my way,” Kyrus said. “I do not intend to be away for too long. Days certainly, perhaps months, but I expect to return when I am able.”
“Once you have found your woman and convinced her to join you here?” Gahalu guessed, following as Kyrus stood and began the walk back to the village, his satchel empty.
“That is my plan. I have a few others I wish to visit as well, whom I have wondered about in my exile from Scar Harbor. With the manner of my leaving, my reputation must be in a shambles and I do not wish that to be the last impression my friends and family have of me. I will visit my parents and any of my siblings who are still living nearby. I will see my baker friend and my old mentor who now works for the Acardian king. I will see my old colleagues, perhaps, as well. I dare not linger, though. I was still thought a criminal when I left and though I could defend myself, I have no wish to cause strife by my return.”
“You will be missed,” Gahalu replied.
The farewell meal was an emotional affair. Kyrus had not realized how deeply he had affected the lives of the Denku. Their previous spirit men had been advisors and wise men, but had never shown them such vivid demonstrations of the power of the spirit world before. The Denku had grown more devout by Kyrus’s presence among them, and it pained them to see him go. Many of the womenfolk wept openly; Tippu and Kahli could not even stay long enough to make their good-byes to him personally, running off sobbing from the small feast.
Men drank in tribute to him, but Kyrus had to refuse to join them. He explained that strong drink would cloud his powers, and make his trip dangerous. The hunters did not know how the spirit man’s powers worked, but understood well enough the impairments that liquors caused, and accepted his polite refusal.
As Kyrus stood to make his way to the spot he had plotted for the start of his trip, the Denku crowded around, hugging him and touching him. They shook his hand in the Acardian tradition he had shown them. They clapped him on the back and wished him a safe journey. Kyrus accepted all the kind words and gestures, but was already beginning to block them out as he cleared his mind in preparation.
This is it, he thought. Time to go home.
* * * * * * * *
“Doxlo intuvae menep gahalixviu junumar tequalix ferendak uzganmanni dekdardon vesvata eho.” And the world of light went dark as Kyrus finished the incantation.
Sources abounded on the island, but the beacons he had runed stood out as clearly as the moon in a starry sky. He drifted toward the first of them deliberately, keeping his pace slow so that he did not whiz past and lose his way. From the first stone, he headed to the second and from the second to the third. There was no sense of up or down, left or right in the void he found himself in, as a disembodied Source loosed in the aether. He could spin himself around and not feel dizzy, though disorientation would be certain.
Without those stones, I could never have aimed my way to Acardia.
The stones did not give the sense of a straight line the way they did as he laid them out that morning, confirming to Kyrus that they were going to keep him to his heading better than his free-floating senses could have managed. Confident that he was on course, he increased his speed.
This is amazing! I always knew Tellurak was round, but I think I can see it in the slight arc of the stones’ path.
Kyrus passed by stone after stone until he saw the end of his guiding beacons. Steeling himself, he passed the last of them and kept his heading as steady as he could manage. Here goes nothing …
Kyrus shot through the aether like a cannonball. He passed through the remaining Sources on the island in a blur, and found himself in a sparse wilderness, as if leaving a dense fog to find himself in a light mist. The Katamic, he realized. It must be much less densely populated in the deep waters away from the islands.
He knew from his experiments that his sense of time was accelerated while using the transference spell. He had probably just been enclosed in the sphere of aether a moment ago, by the Denku bystanders’ reckoning.
Kyrus held his attention dead ahead, not daring to veer for fear of losing his way. It was dark all about him, with just occasional breaks for a Source here and there.
I wish I could see in the light while traveling like this. The view must be singularly compelling, flying over the water as fast as I must be going.
Time passed and Kyrus began to worry. How long have I been gone? It feels like hours, but I have no way to know. I wonder if I can gain altitude to see farther, like a lookout would at sea. I would be much happier with some sight of a congregation of Sources.
Kyrus moved upward as he went, judging as best he could without a physical sense of his orientation. The gambit paid no reward, though, save to aid the dark, nagging portion of Kyrus’s brain in its attempt to convince him that he had gone astray. There were no large groups of Sources to be seen that would indicate a town, coastal shallows filled with fish, or even forests. Kyrus looked all about—and immediately knew his mistake.
I just lost my heading.
He could not keep his “body” still and just turn his head to look around; his body was back on Denku Appa. He had no sun or other landmark to guide himself by. Turn to the left and then back to the right; he had no way to tell if he had gone back to facing exactly the same direction.
Kyrus made his best guess, but he knew he was unlikely to find Scar Harbor or any part of Acardia except by sheer chance. Instead of certainty of direction, he settled for speed. If I cannot find where I wish to go, I ought to at least get somewhere—and fast. There was no telling how long he would be able to sustain the amounts of aether he was spending. He would find the first settlement he came across and reorient himself from there.
With a ferocious speed, Kyrus tore across the aether. There was naught around him but darkness and the ambient aether, long since departed from any Source. He was finding nothing. At the speed he imagined he was going, he ought to have crossed half the world.
What if …
The possibilities were beginning to stand and call the roll. What if he had gone up too far and was above the clouds? What if he was below ground, having mixed directions of up and down? What if some outside force was blocking his aether-vision and there were Sources all about? What if Tippu and Kahli had moved his beacon stones so he would get lost and have to return to Denku Appa?
Worries were pushed aside. Whatever went wrong, I need to get somewhere soon. The signs of fatigue were beginning to present themselves. He was feeling slower. His Source was beginning to ache just a bit. Kyrus renewed his efforts to draw in aether and pressed onward.
* * * * * * * *
Back on Denku Appa, the mood of Kyrus’s well-wishers shifted. The mixture of sadness and solemnity that had marked their spirit man’s departure was replaced by terror.
They had cautiously withdrawn a ways from Kyrus’s sphere of aether, but many stayed to watch the strange magic whisk away their friend. It had seemed harmless enough at first, but then the magic began to claw at them. Few Denku had ever felt the touch of magic before Kyrus’s arrival, and the friendly little magics he had used on them for their entertainment had been gentle and unthreatening. But the magic sphere that encased Kyrus and obscured their view of him was trying to draw the spirit right out of them, greedily attempting to devour their essences.
Men and women alike screamed and ran. A brave few, including Toktu and Gahalu, withdrew beyond the sphere’s effects and then turned back to watch. The jungle undergrow
th, and even the trees, leaned toward that sphere as if a gale wind blew in its direction. The greenery nearest to it browned and blackened, dying right before their eyes.
* * * * * * * *
Stay calm. The book said I could try navigating by feel as well. Home should feel familiar. I need to find a familiar feeling somewhere out in that void, and follow it back. Whether that takes me to Acardia, or back to my own body, I can make do.
Kyrus came to a stop and paused. He was still drawing gluttonous amounts of aether, but it would avail him nothing if he could not find a destination before running out of aether or burning himself out due to exhaustion. There were no distractions except those in his own mind, and he fought those down. He felt silly, wasting his time hoping that some path would open itself before him, when he could be getting anywhere with some haste, if only he moved.
At length—a length he had no way to judge other than by guessing at his level of fatigue—he felt something. Whether it was intuition or delusion, he thought he felt something. It was the best he had to go on. He focused his attention on that feeling and gave every bit of his mental effort over to heading in that direction.
The feeling had been so faint at first as to have been easily mistaken for a panicked mind turning optimism into false hope, but as he went, Kyrus felt more certain of his course. He drew harder and harder upon the aether, feeling that he was running out of time before he exceeded his own limits. His mind began to scream for him to stop.
In the distance, Kyrus saw Sources. He could discern little due to the fantastic rate at which he approached, but he could at least tell that it was a cluster of Sources and he could feel himself in there among them.
Back to Denku Appa, it seems, Kyrus thought ruefully.
Having no momentum as a disembodied Source, he parked himself at the Source-less Kyrus he found there, going from hurtling at incomprehensible speeds to a full stop quicker than the blink of an eye. The sooner he returned to the world of light, the better.