Mortals & Deities

by Maxwell Alexander Drake

  Reaching over and picking up his third honey roll, Sarlimac took a bite and swallowed before speaking. “I am afraid I do not understand.”

  Alant pulled the sun pendant from beneath his shirt. “Your Tarsith. It is the reason I found all this out. You were correct; it did stop the Elmorians from performing a Chi’tar on me. Yet, it also translated their words for me as well!”

  “That is astonishing! You understand their native language?” Dipping the roll into the remains of the gravy on his plate, the Sier shoved the last bit into his mouth.

  Smiling at the old man’s enthusiasm, Alant nodded. “Aye, Sier. Whenever they spoke, the Tarsith would grow cold. I heard them speak in their own words, yet, somehow I also knew the meanings of what they said. It had to be the Tarsith.”

  Sarlimac leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “That is…well it is almost unbelievable! What is this Chi’tar you mentioned?”

  Tucking the Tarsith back under his shirt, Alant took a drink of water. “Of that, I am not certain. I think it is the name they use for the abilities you told me they have.”

  The old Sier put his hands in the form of a steeple and placed the point on the spot of his chin that had no hair. “That makes sense. Chi means of the Essence and ‘tar translates loosely into mind or thought.” A smile broke from his lips. “You have learned much during your time away, Alant. I am proud of you.”

  Even though the praise made Alant feel good, he had to laugh out loud. “I am sorry, Sier. You have not heard the half of it yet.” Before the old man could interrupt, he recounted the story of his trip to the Chi’utlan and all the wonders—and terrors—he had seen.

  “So you saw an Essence Node? It is real!” The Sier’s excitement became palpable. “You are not having a jest with me?”

  Alant smiled. “Nix, Sier. It is real. I entered it. That is what the Elmorians are using the Human students for. As fodder for some sort of test.”

  Sarlimac let out a long whistle. “In all of my time I had never thought to gain proof that Essence Nodes existed. And here you sit telling me you walked into one!” A puzzled look came over him. “Wait. You say this was some type of test? A test for what?”

  “I will not tell you I know the motives of the Elmorians, for I do not know. I do know, however, the Chi’utlan…It changed me somehow.” This was the part of the story Alant was loathe to tell. It made him feel dirty, freakish.

  A chuckle came from the old man and he reached out and patted Alant’s arm. “You seem the same to me. Are you not feeling well? Would you like me to Meld your Essence?”

  The thought of Sarlimac Melding with Alant’s Essence had never occurred to him. What if he could heal whatever the Chi’utlan had done to him?

  What if in doing so, I lose the powers I have gained?

  He pulled his hand away, then covered the motion by taking another drink. “Nix, Sier. I do not think—”

  Sarlimac gasped. His eyes took on the vacant look of one holding the Sight of the Essence as Alant spoke. Now the man recoiled back into his chair. “I cannot see the Essence within you! It is as if you do not even exist!” His seat fell over in his haste to stand.

  Rising himself, Alant held out a hand. “Please, Sier. Do not be afraid.”

  “Afraid?” The old man’s eyes returned to normal and he blinked a few times. He was visibly shaken. Still, after looking at Alant for a moment, he bent down, up-righted his chair and sat once more. “I…I am sorry for my actions.” Waving a hand, he indicated for Alant to sit. “Other than Ratave, I have never seen…”

  Returning to his own seat, Alant nodded. “Aye. Though I fear this will startle you even more.” He let the Sight of the Essence fall upon him.

  “By all Twelve Gods!” His instructor’s words came out in a strangled whisper, though this time he did not jump from his seat.

  It was the first time Alant had looked at another Shaper with this new Sight. What he saw startled him as much as his glowing red eyes seemed to shock Sarlimac. Silver Spectals—he had never before seen that color in anything else—swirled through the Sier. He wondered if they had something to do with the ability to meld the Essence. Reaching out with his mind, he started to pull one toward him. A sharp intake of breath from the old man caused him to stop, and he let the Sight slip from him. “I am sorry! I did not mean to hurt you.”

  The old man’s mouth worked for several moments before he spoke. “That was you? The sensation I felt?”

  Alant regretted his actions. “Aye, I am sorry. You have…silver inside you that I have never before seen. Without thinking of what I was doing, I reached out and…” He did not know what else to say. How could he explain what he saw with this new Sight of the Essence he held?

  “Your eyes no longer glow. What did you do?”

  Sliding his empty plate to the side, Alant clasped his hands before him. “It is hard to explain. I no longer see the Essence as you do when I hold the Sight. It is…different. I still see Spectals, like you. Yet, I also see…Strands.” He shrugged. “These are not inside of things. They are all around things.”

  Letting out a long breath—Alant had not realized the old man held it—Sarlimac relaxed. “If I had not felt it, I may not have believed you.”

  Shaking his head, Alant reached over and placed his cloth napkin on his plate. “Nix. What you felt was me pulling on one of the silver Spectals I saw in you, and for that I am sorry.”

  An age spotted hand reached up and rubbed his chest. “It felt like…It felt like I was weakening. As if my very strength in Melding was being pulled away.”

  Then Alant understood.

  I was pulling out his ability to Meld the Essence!

  The realization turned his stomach. What if he had hurt the man? Or even killed him! “I am sorry. I will not do it again.” He indicated the napkin. “However, I need to show you something.” Letting the Sight fall upon him once more, he looked to the napkin. Melding it with the barest touch of his power, it burst into flames.

  Looking back to his old instructor, Alant laughed out loud. The man stared at the burning cloth with a look of such astonishment, it seemed his eyes were about to fall from their sockets. “That is only the beginning.” Holding his hand palm up, he let blue-white sparks of energy dance between his fingertips.

  Mouth hanging open, the Sier shook his head back and forth. Finally, he closed his mouth with a pop and looked up at Alant. “I—”

  Alant waited for him to continue. However, after several moments he realized the man was not going to. “What has happened to me?” His old instructor blinked at him. “When I entered the Chi’utlan, what did it do to me?” Leaning forward, he reached out a hand to place it over the Sier’s.

  Sarlimac jerked his hand away before Alant could touch him. Eyes still wide, he scanned the room. “I—I do not know.”

  The answer was not what Alant was looking for. This man had studied the Essence his entire life! How could he not know? “You must know something!” His mind raced. “What of the Chi’utlan—the Essence Node. Tell me what you know of that!”

  The old man shrugged. “Little, I am afraid. Nothing more than its name. Most do not believe they even exist.” He forced the words out in a whisper.

  Anger welled up in Alant. “I came here for answers. I came here because I trusted that you would help me.” His chair slid back as he stood. “You are the one who sent me to Elmorr’eth! You and the rest of the Shapers! And you can tell me nothing!”

  His rants seemed to awaken the Sier. He stood and held out his hands to Alant. “Yes, come back with me. With the help of the Council—”

  “Nix! I will not be held again!” Alant wanted to lash out. He had just escaped from Prince Aritian’s hold. He was not about to fall back into the same situation. Back into the hands of someone else who wanted to use him—experiment with him like the Elmorians had! “Never again!”


  In a clatter of smashing pottery, the plates and mugs that sat upon the table flew against the far wall. Alant had not meant to do it, had not even thought about it. The act startled him so much that he lost the Sight of the Essence. Turning back to Sarlimac, it pained him to see the old man cowering against the other wall. “I—I am sorry.” What could the Sier do? Why should Alant have expected him to know anything? “I should not have come here.” Turning, he walked to the door.

  Sarlimac followed, reaching out and placing a hand on Alant’s arm before he could lift the latch. “Please. It is I who should ask forgiveness. Return to the table. There is so much I need to know. I can help you.”

  Looking into the man’s eyes, Alant became certain of two things. The first was the sincerity of the man—he truly wanted to help. The second—the man knew nothing about what had happened to him. “It has been good to see you again, Sier Sarlimac. I hope that one day we shall meet again. Until then, I wish you well.” Reaching out with his free hand, he moved the Sier’s arm gently from his before he opened the door. “Do not follow me.”

  Alant slipped into the hall, closing the door behind him. When the door remained closed, he continued down the hall and out into the main street in front of the Coliseum. Without thinking of where he was heading, he walked. His mind in turmoil, he replayed the events that had led him here. Why had this happened to him? What had he done to deserve this?

  Where am I to go now?

  The memory of that night spent in the woods, when the strange old woman visited, came back to him. She knew he sought answers and said he was wasting his time seeking out Sarlimac. He also remembered her saying that only one place held the answers to his questions.

  When her words echoed loud in his head, a chill passed over him that had nothing to do with the late fall breeze. ‘Saphanthia waits for you. You need only go to her.’

  That may be true. Still, there is no way that I will find this lost city!

  Having spent so much of his life with no control over what would happen to him, Klain now found it infuriating to be free of the chains of slavery, yet still have no control over his future. Preparations continued for the Expedition, and for the most part, Klain’s daily life remained unaffected. Still, he could not shake the feeling that mayhaps Timms was correct—this adventure they headed for felt more madness than anything else. If something happened to the boy-cub, Klain would never forgive himself.

  Nor will I be able to forgive the boy’s father!

  Why was his master so bent on taking Charver with him on such a dangerous journey? That question plagued him the most. It was not as if Klain was concerned for his own safety. If his master wished him to go, he would go. Yet, leave the boy-cub behind.

  Striding out through the main doors to the villa, Klain spied Rohann standing in the courtyard having a heated discussion with the driver of a wagon that had just arrived. The wagon sat loaded with more supplies. Glancing around, looking at the stacks of boxes, crates, and sacks of supplies, Klain wondered how they could use everything they had already gathered, much less transport it! Hobbling down the marble stairs never designed for his digi-walking paws, he strode across the courtyard to his master.

  “I do not care what that fool of a blacksmith said! The axles on this wagon will never make the trip! I told him I wanted all the wooden shafts either Essence enhanced or bound with iron.” Rohann glared at Klain as he approached before turning back to the driver. “Now, get my supplies off this rickety excuse for a cart and take it back to your master!”

  Bobbing his head as he had done through the entire course of berating, the driver flicked his reins and the wagon lurched forward. A few men broke from stacking boxes and met the wagon to start unloading it.

  “Will we need so much?” Klain watched as the workers added more boxes to an already enormous pile.

  Rohann looked around the courtyard. “I think we may be just about ready.” He clapped Klain on the shoulder. “I am glad you are here, Master Klain. I must go into town for one more thing. I would appreciate it if you would go with me.”

  Joining his master in surveying all the supplies brought out from the villa to be sorted and loaded on the fleet of wagons, Klain grunted. “You need one more thing?” Cutting his eyes at the Human, he gave his best interpretation of one of their smiles. “I hope it is a small thing.”

  Laughing, Rohann headed for the side of the villa. “Let me get a horse and we will be off.”

  As expected, the trip into town slipped by without incident. It felt good running on all four paws as Klain loped along next to his master’s pale mare. Klain’s presence in the area had become accepted by the locals, and as they passed the myriad of farms that littered the well maintained roadway toward Mocley, children rushed out to wave and cheer at the Kith as he ran past.

  The city outside the walls—what Klain now knew as Gatetown—was a hive of activity. Throngs of Humans wandered everywhere, though he knew the crowds outside paled in comparison to those on the inside of the massive, protective walls. One thing that was new was the line of Humans waiting to enter the city. Normally, the gates stood open and a mass of people would be both entering and exiting as they saw fit. People were still coming out of the tunnel in a haphazard fashion. Yet, a group of guards spoke to each person prior to allowing them entry, which caused the line to form.

  Watching Rohann dismount, Klain clenched his paw around the hilt of his Mi’nathe blade. “What is this?” He waved his free paw around the scene.

  Rohann chuckled as he led his horse past the line of people. “It seems the Shaper’s Order is in an uproar about losing someone. These fools hope to find him entering the city. It is no concern of ours. Come.” Raising a hand, he caught the attention of a guard leaning against the side of a stone building. “There is a Guarder Captain I recognize.”

  The two approached the guard who pushed off the wall and walked toward them. “Hail, Master Vimith.”

  “Patill, it is good to see you again.” Waving a hand at the crowds behind him, Rohann grinned. “And how goes your search for…” He spun his hand in a circle at the wrist.

  Reaching a hand up, the captain rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Bloody waste of time, if you ask me. All we are doing is upsetting the commonfolk. This morn an old woman threw matoes at two of the guards. She screamed her head off about how, if she had to watch her stock spoil before she could sell it at market, she would get some use out of it.” He laughed at his own story as he plucked at the front of his yellow and blue tabard. “Bloody hard to get matoe stains off these uniforms.”

  “I imagine it is.” Raising an eyebrow, Rohann indicated the main gates. “If you will excuse us?”

  The captain let go of his tabard and brushed a hand down its front to smooth out the small point he had created with his demonstration. “Aye.” Lifting his arm above his head, he waved to the guards at the entrance. “Let them through!”

  Following behind Rohann, the two plunged into the main tunnel and entered the Bazaar. Klain hated this area of the city most of all and curled up his nose once they entered. Humans stank. The odor from the mass of unwashed bodies pressing against each other, vying for a position to either buy or sell their wares, was almost more than he could bear. Still, he was satisfied that each time he stepped into a crowd such as this, those close to him pressed back, giving him the space to go where he needed without having to stand and smell them for long. He suspected this was the main reason Rohann liked taking him along when he ventured into the city.

  Once out of the Bazaar, their pace quickened. People saw Klain from further away and moved out of his path long before he had to slow his steps or step around them. Leaving the larger streets, he trailed behind his master through the narrower, less crowded roads until they reached an area of the city that seemed more familiar. Large stone buildings rose up to follow the cobblestone street, many with planters or pots holding bu
shes and small trees surrounding them. Not only did the dress of the Humans walking past them improve, so did their smell. It had been near six moons since he had been in this section of the city, yet he thought he recognized the street that led to Sarshia’s villa. Thinking of the strange gray creature who had released him from his bondage made him smile. He hoped that wherever she had gone, she was well.

  The villa they stopped in front of looked to be well protected from intruders. The white wall that surrounded the building, topped with a tall spiked fence broken in one spot by a similarly spiked gate, would be near impossible to scale. Ornate paverstones circled the courtyard behind the gate, and a large round fountain bubbled in the center. Off to one side sat stables and opposite that, a small orchard of trees. Flowers and potted plants filled any area not paved with stones, giving the location a tranquil feeling that Klain found appealing. The villa itself was a small, three-story structure with large windows set at measured intervals. Most of the windows were thrown open, letting in the pleasant autumn breeze. The loud clacking of wood striking wood echoed from somewhere near the rear of the building. Although, as close as the homes in this area were, he could not be certain the sounds came from this one. If not for the fact that all of the plants were well manicured, he would say that no one lived inside.

  Reaching over, Rohann banged his fist against the center of the gates. After a moment, a small brown-haired boy peeked around the corner of the house. His eyes grew large when they came to rest on Klain and he jerked his head back behind the wall. Within moments, however, two Humans came striding from that direction. One stood fairly large for a Human, and as black as any Silawaian Klain had ever seen. This man wore no shirt, and sweat rolled in rivulets down his muscular chest and arms. A younger Human walked next to him.