by J. S. Morin
Curled beneath the bedclothes was a Brannis-sized figure, which she presumed to be Brannis. The sort of demon who could transfer her through Rashan’s wards was certainly clever enough to put her in the right room. More cautious than was her typical custom, Juliana took a quick look into the aether.
She had wanted to confirm that she was indeed surrounded by Rashan’s shielding wards, and to have a peek at Brannis’s shiny new Source, like sneaking a look at her age-day presents a week early. She gasped, and cried out at the unexpected pain in her aether-vision when she saw Brannis’s Source.
Merciful Tansha, have you begun granting Brannis’s wishes as well, or did Grandfather work his prophecy from beyond death?
She was forced back into normal light vision to avert the headache she felt coming. Her gasp stirred Brannis in his bed, but did not wake him.
Well, he seems to be as sound a sleeper as ever, at least. She walked quietly over to the bedside, and sat down next to Brannis, seeming not to disturb him at all. He looks pale and gaunt, she thought as she brushed the hair back from his face. What happened to him? The question hung in her mind, but it did not hang long before her impatience shouldered it aside. She shook him gently by the shoulder.
“Brannis … Brannis, wake up,” Juliana spoke just above a whisper. Brannis stirred again, but did not wake. “Brannis, I may not have much time. I wanted to see you and find out what happened to you.”
Brannis’s deep, even breaths caught up short in a snort as Juliana shook him a bit more vigorously. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then stopped himself and closed it again. His eyes blinked open, gazing into Juliana’s when he was finally able to focus them anywhere.
“What day is it?” Brannis whispered, speaking each word separately and slowly. He sounded weak and exhausted.
“Springtime third,” Juliana replied. “You cannot have been asleep too long since Rashan left you. How do you feel?”
“Tired. Confused. Such … beautiful … eyes,” Brannis replied, smiling weakly.
“Well,” Juliana replied ruefully, “you had your chance and botched it. If you had that Source in you all along, you waited a season too long to reveal it. What did you do?”
“Not … entirely … sure. Think I had … adventure.” Brannis sounded as if his wits were not quite sorted within that head of his. She thought she might have caught a hint of Acardian in his accent, which might clue anyone who did not already know that he was twinborn. Juliana stroked his face gently with her hand, distracting him until he stopped even trying to talk.
“Well, Rashan said you were in a bit of rough shape after whatever it was that happened to you, but he expects you will be fine. I had to see for myself, though.”
She leaned down and kissed him, lingering far longer than was probably proper for a recently married woman. Her hands ran along his body, finding scant muscle and more prominent ribs than she had been expecting.
* * * * * * * *
Kyrus said nothing, head swimming with dredged-up adolescent memories of times Brannis had spent together with Juliana. He knew that nothing he said was going to avail him. Atop that, anything he said might give him away as an imposter if he was not thinking clearly.
“I had hoped that you were not quite so enervated by your ordeal as you are. I wish we could have made better use of the little slice of privacy we have gained here, but truly I am relieved that you were not harmed any worse,” Juliana said, then lay down and nestled against Kyrus. The two lay together in silence until Illiardra came to fetch Juliana and they made their good-byes with another kiss. Juliana seemed not to care if her oathmother saw.
This is going to be a lot more trouble than Tippu and Kahli, Kyrus thought before allowing slumber to reclaim him and his exhausted mind.
* * * * * * * *
“So you have had your indulgence,” Illiardra spoke to Juliana as the two sat on the high balcony of Rashan’s chamber, looking out over Kadris. “I trust everything was to your satisfaction?”
“Brannis seemed a bit strange. I don't know what happened to him, but he has yet to collect all the pieces of himself, and put them back the way they belong. I had intended to press him for details, but he just seemed so … exhausted. Brannis is usually so full of energy, I did not know what to say to him like that,” Juliana replied.
“So instead you just kissed him?” Illiardra smiled with amusement. Before Juliana could begin defending her actions, Illiardra chuckled. “Worry not. Rashan has told me about your marriage customs. You and Iridan were arranged. You did your duty in marrying. It does not erase loves you already carried in your heart. It never will. Have a care how you conduct yourself. Much is expected of you, oathdaughter.” Illiardra chuckled at the last word, as if finding the concept absurd.
“You are just amused? You do not worry about Iridan?” Juliana wondered aloud, her inner censor as awake and alert as she had found Brannis.
“I am an awful mother,” Illiardra admitted. “I gave up my babe before he was old enough to remember me and hardly gave him another thought. Had Rashan not contacted me about the wedding, Iridan might have died of age before I thought to inquire about him. He is mortal and will remain so. I am immortal and hope to remain so. Our paths were never meant to twine tightly to each other. I have but one boon I would ask of you, to satisfy whatever motherly obligation I might have.”
“This is the favor you intended to ask of me?” Juliana asked, leaning close, wondering what Illiardra could want of her.
“Yes. I would ask that you do what you might to see that Iridan does not turn out like his father,” Illiardra implored, her doe-like eyes fixing on Juliana’s.
“I will do what I can,” Juliana promised.
It was her fear as well, and she could already see the signs, the similarities. Iridan might not have the vicious nature that Rashan possessed, but it might yet lurk below the layers of meekness, of worry, of self-doubt, and of humility that lacquered his mind—a painted veneer that all who knew him saw, but which could be chipped away to reveal the base metal beneath: the true Iridan, whatever it might be.
“Thank you. Oh, and one last thing before I go: Iridan is almost entirely his father’s son, but there is some of me in him as well. In whatever children you bear him, be mindful that they may be more fey than even two such sorcerers might be expected to conceive.”
And with that cryptic farewell, Illiardra was gone.
Chapter 15 - On Holiday
It was easily the strangest place Brannis had ever awakened, to the point where even pondering the second strangest seemed pointless. No larder, no hay field, no dank wilderness cave could compare to being tossed an unfathomable distance through the aether to awaken at your own writing desk, and find it perched on a lonely bit of black marble floor, surrounded by a sandy beach and watched by an awestruck assemblage of people from another world. Brannis glanced around warily, working his mouth to rid it of the gummy feeling after just awakening and rubbing at his eyes.
Wonderful. I hope you know how to run a war, Kyrus, because you just bought yourself one with that little stunt.
Brannis took quick stock of what had been brought along to Denku Appa by the transference spell. The black marble with greenish veins was clearly from the palace wall and floor, carved out in a spherical chunk. The desk and chair he had fallen asleep at were wholly intact. There was an undisturbed inkpot and several sheets of parchment, and a small number of books of magic. He had fallen asleep with his armor on, something he had done the two nights running since the assassination attempt at the wedding. The gauntlets that went along with Liead’s armor hung from a hook at his waist, and the helm was underfoot where he had left it—no bit was missing. Avalanche was sheathed at his hip, the tip resting on the floor. In short, he was prepared for being ambushed in the night by a Megrenn assailant.
I am not sure what countermeasures I could have prepared against my idiot twin dumping me on a tiny island in the middle of the Katamic Sea on Tellurak.
>
Despite his spiteful inner monolog, Brannis had begun to consider that Kyrus was the smarter of the two of them, spending more of his time in books while Brannis spent more time with a sword in hand or a horse beneath his rump. As the curious Denku approached, he could barely understand a word of what they said.
“(babbling noises) you? (indistinguishable yammering) Kyrus? Say (something something) name,” a score of Denku spat questions at him along similar lines. He knew he probably knew most of the words, but his own ears were untrained, and were not picking them apart from amid the stream of foreign sounds he was hearing.
“Talk slow. Please,” Brannis requested, standing up from his chair. If things went badly—and he could envision several ways in which it could—then he did not want to be at a disadvantage by being seated.
One of the elders held his arms out to his sides and gestured for the rest to quiet down. Brannis recognized him as Toktu. In fact, Brannis could put names to most of the Denku present. It was a strange sensation, the feeling of familiarity with sights his eyes had never seen, with scents his lungs had never breathed in. Brannis had been awakened as soon as the transference spell had been completed, so he had no idea how Kyrus was getting on in Veydrus or if he was having the same experience there.
“Who. Are. You?” Toktu obligingly spoke very slowly for Brannis’s benefit. “Where. Is. Spirit. Man. Kyrus?” The latter question had a hint of worried desperation to it. The Denku elder suspected something had gone wrong.
“I am Brannis,” Brannis explained. “I am … Kyrus’s … spirit … brother.” Brannis struggled for words in a language he barely knew to explain a concept he did not fully understand himself.
There were muttered conversations among the gathered Denku, but Toktu remained respectfully attentive as Brannis fought to make his explanation.
“Kyrus go (Brannis winced, knowing that was not the right verb tense) … to spirit world.” Brannis gestured, pointing vaguely to the sky and out to sea. “He go out (Blast it, what is the past tense of ‘go’ in Denku?) … other place. My home.” Brannis poked himself in the chest. “Kyrus took … part …” Brannis gestured to the bit of imperial palace stonework that was brought along with him, outlining it with his hands. “… and send it here.”
“So … Where. Is. Kyrus?” Toktu asked, clearly not quite sure what his strange visitor was trying to convey. There was general unease among the villagers. They had expected a good-bye, but the horrific vortex at Kyrus’s parting, followed by the arrival of Brannis, was something entirely different. They were not sure what.
“Home. My home.” Brannis pointed to himself.
“Do you speak Spirit Man Kyrus’s language,” Gahalu called out in Acardian, hoping to bridge the cultural gap so that his people could find out what went wrong with Kyrus’s parting.
“Yes,” Brannis managed in Acardian of his own, the first time he had used the language. It was familiar as an old song he had heard since childhood, but he had never sung it before.
With Gahalu’s help, Brannis and Toktu were able to discuss the details of Kyrus’s spell and how it went wrong. The Denku were distraught that Kyrus was not home in Acardia as he had hoped, feeling that his departure from Denku Appa was all for naught.
* * * * * * * *
The little stone hut was homey enough, and he recognized it, but Brannis hoped it would not be his for long. Brannis carefully piled the books he carried in a corner. None but he would be able to read them, but nevertheless, he did not want the Denku taking custody of them. The four tomes were all instruction on magic and belonged in the libraries of the Tower of Contemplation in faraway Kadrin. It was hard to fathom that he was not currently on Veydrus, a fact that would have seemed impossible were it not his current state. Magic made all things possible, they said, but certain life constants seemed less mutable than others.
He took his helm off, and set it down atop the pile of books. He had no need of it, and had only worn it because it was easier than finding a free hand to carry it. Brannis might have pressed one of the Denku into service helping him, but he supposed they were a bit afraid of him and the otherworldly objects he brought with him.
Brannis slumped down onto the sleeping mat, elbows on knees, with a rattle of armor. What am I going to do here? I belong here as much as Kyrus does in Kadris, which is to say: not at all. I still have a war to fight back home. Kyrus had better sort this out quickly.
Brannis stood up again, unable to sit calmly and uncomfortable sitting on the ground in his armor, magically fitted though it was. He paced the small dwelling, aware of the murmurings outside that indicated the Denku were watching for him to emerge.
I could live here among them, as Kyrus did. Once he figures out how he did whatever it was he did, he can undo it and get me back on Veydrus where I belong. In the meantime, what? Fresh sea breezes and the company of those two lasses he was too shy to enjoy? I may be forced to … if Kyrus takes overlong and I cannot find a way to a civilized part of Tellurak.
Brannis began stripping off his armor as he formulated a plan. The island was hot enough that none of the natives wore more than the barest of clothing, and he had the distinct feeling that they were wary of the demonic-looking gold-and-quicksilver plate he was wearing when they first saw him. He needed to get on the next ship to visit the island, whenever it might arrive—he had to be ready at any time. Not only would wearing the elaborate armor scare the Denku, it might make the ship’s crew think he carried a lot more coin than he actually had. Brannis had a small coin purse with a dozen or so Kadrin lions. There was no exchange rate between those and any Telluraki (Tellurakan? Tellurakish? Brannis had no idea how to properly name something belonging to KyrusWorld) currency. They were pure gold, and large enough to be worth a tidy sum, but hardly the sort of wealth a man with the armor he wore would have.
Clad in nothing but the loose garment he wore beneath his leg armor, Brannis buckled his sword belt back on. Avalanche was not going to leave his side at any time, if he could help it. It was not that the Denku were a threatening lot, but a select few of them had personal property issues, and very little sense or responsibility. Avalanche was dangerous enough that he could not risk anyone toying with it out of curiosity. The rest of his gear he piled in the corner with his other belongings. He would need something to pack it all in, but for now he had one other task that was more pressing.
When Brannis emerged from the hut, a throng had gathered. If dozens had gone to see Kyrus off, hundreds awaited Brannis’s exit, nearly the entire village. Brannis waved amiably and headed back to the beach where he had arrived. The crowd parted for him, but followed his progress.
There is no way I will get privacy to do this. I will at least impress them, if not frighten them, but if a ship comes, I will not be able to explain it away.
The crowd held back as Brannis approached the odd structure that errant magic and happenstance had conspired to construct on their beach. It was a semicircular wall, standing there like some sculptor’s impression of a sunset, rendered in black marble. It bisected a circular section of matching floor, with the side containing Brannis’s desk and chair being the largest by far, and Brannis’s chair was its center point. Brannis hauled the heavy desk off the marble and onto the sands several paces back toward the jungle and his hut, careful not to set a leg down on his bare feet. He did likewise with the chair, though it was far easier to move. He would enjoy the exotic furnishings while he was on Denku Appa, and their presence would not be any more odd than the incongruous little stone hut was in the first place.
The black marble abomination, however, was another matter.
Brannis drew Avalanche from its sheath slowly, turning to the Denku and calling to Gahalu, “Let them know to keep back. I just cannot leave this strange wall here.”
Brannis took a gentle swing, and passed the blade through the wall. There was a crushing of stone as the wall rocked a bit, and gave way before the inexorable sword as it struck. The Denku were shock
ed, Gahalu included, but remained well back and safe from the destruction as Brannis continued chopping up the wall. Brannis worked carefully, never swinging the sword more vigorously than he would a full tankard of ale.
As the Denku villagers watched in fascination, Brannis leveled the wall and began breaking up the floor as well. There was empty space below, except for where the wall had continued on down to the floor below back when it was part of the Kadrin Imperial Palace. Kyrus had taken far more sand from Denku Appa when he had left than he had sent marble to replace it. Brannis was glad of that. In fact, he had counted on it. Once he had a pit filled with large rubble, he jabbed the blade down repeatedly to break it up further. With no other real pressing business to draw away his attention, Brannis spent hours turning the wall into gravel, and then knocked loose sand from around the edges of the hole to cover it.
What was left looked like a puckered scar in the beach head. In time, wind and tide would erase all evidence of Brannis’s handiwork, but even before then no one would ever have thought that there had once been a wall from another world standing there.
* * * * * * * *
Brannis awoke in the late afternoon after a long nap. He had been relieved to see that Kyrus had suffered no major disasters yet in Kadris, and that Rashan was working to keep the swapping of Brannises a secret. I suspected that demon rat knew more than he let on, ever since I set off for Raynesdark and dropped that tidbit about cannons. He did not ask what one was or show any reaction at all. He left me to wonder whether he understood what a cannon was or whether he was just willing to let the odd term pass unchallenged out of expedience but now I know which it was.