“So what was the charge zone?” Sarina inquires, caressing her round chin.
“The area where the energy field was charging up,” I reply, cocking my head. “Think of it like this: Before lightning strikes, the positive ground charge attracts the negative lightning charge and there’s a small buildup before the strike occurs. Whatever energy is there before the Roil, I can only assume that it’s there as a sort of buildup before the storm hits.”
I conclude my explanation, and Sarina looks content with the answers I provide. The others seem satisfied as well, although Devin and Vyck shrug it off as some weird sorcery in the armor. Oddly though, Remus seems to not only accept my answers. He approves of them, like he’s grading a test. Is he familiar with the armor?
I can’t help but ask, “Remus, do you know about this armor?”
Under his dark beard, I can see him giving me a faint smile. It’s not maniacal or sinister. More along the lines of nostalgic, like he’s daydreaming about some past glory. “Yes— I— Know—” he struggles to say.
Aida gives him a look of caution, but says nothing. I’m stunned and eager at the same time. With his age and status, he probably knows countless things about the armor. I’m ecstatic. So many questions to ask.
“What can you tell me about it?” I inquire, perhaps more eagerly than I intend. “Who made it? What does it do?”
“Legacy— Of— Knights—” Remus grunts in pain, then Aida cuts him off.
“You are in no condition to start rambling about that, Remus,” she says tenderly. But her voice reflects notes of discipline and she addresses me. “Tálir, he’s been through… a lot these last few hours. Ask him about it again when we’re under better circumstances. He needs to take it easy.”
I’m a bit taken aback by her sudden sternness, but I nod in acceptance. I’m not ready to face the wrath of a woman like her. I’ll just have even more questions once Remus’ condition stabilizes.
Vivían snorts a laugh at me. “Alright big leader Tálir. If you flinch at her claws, I’ll bet you’d shit a pile if you faced an Outlander woman’s scorn. Make sure not to anger me too much.” She gives me a flirtatious wink.
I can see an indistinct flush of red on Sarina’s cheeks. “You’re an Outlander?” she asks, turning her head to the side. “I just thought you had a different style of hair and dress than the rest of us.”
“My hair has been rather wild lately,” she replies, running her fingers through the whacky, crimson mess. “And my clothes are light for hunting. But I’m not an Outlander. Not anymore.”
Before Sarina can ask further questions, Devin and Vyck stand to stretch their legs rather loudly. “Ey guys, not that the catching up isn’t nice and all,” Devin grumbles derisively. “But I plan on getting out of this shithole by the end of the day. Tálir, would you be so kind as to lead the way? Fearless leader.”
His snide attitude causes my frustration to start bubbling up to the surface. I need to control my temper, though. My last hasty decision resulted in being captured by the new Imperial militia. I mustn’t let it slip again.
In unison, the rest of us get to our feet and retrieve our bags and satchels. We exit the grotto and walk for a few minutes, the others falling behind my lead. Part of me can sense that this decision isn’t entirely based on my willingness to lead. I’m also the first one to come into harm’s way. Lovely.
“So how much longer do you think we have, m’lady?” Devin inquires to Sarina from our flank. “After all that talk about being native to Z’hart and shit, I figured you might have some inkling to where we are.”
She regards them with scrutiny. “Do I look like a miner to you?” she asks, her face contorting in distaste. “My guess is that there might be a central excavation Well at the end of this tunnel.”
Devin tries to glimpse down the tunnel and then looks to Sarina. “You guess there’s a Well at the end of this?” he queries shrewdly. “I’m filled with confidence right now. Let’s just guess how to escape a mining tunnel.”
“Do you have a better option?” I butt in with a bit of vindictiveness. I halt and wheel around, trying to assert authority. I think it fails.
The two men look hard at me, and I could almost see them resisting the urge to snigger. Under Devin’s black goatee, I see him smirking in amusement. What is wrong with these guys? Are they so arrogantly delusional that they can’t take anyone seriously?
“Always so quick to side with the city girl, eh Tálir?” Devin says with derision. “Cute. I assume since she was giving mouth-to-mouth earlier, you’re trying to… repay the debt.”
“Time to get boned!” Vyck snorts. “Don’t blame you in the least Tálir.”
My cheeks flush with embarrassment, but my expression makes it seem more like indignation. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sarina giving Devin an arctic glare as she reaches for her boltpistol. Her azure eyes burn into him, like a bolt searing through flesh. Now there’s a fire, I say to myself.
“What’s so wrong about someone stepping in to fend off an asshole?” I ask in return, grinning slightly. “Or are you jealous?”
Devin chokes on his next words and his face loses a bit of color. Behind me, I hear Vivían snort with merriment. I’m shocked, however, when Devin fails to retort and instead adopts a neutral mask.
“How will we know when we’ve reached the Well?” Devin asks Sarina in a much deeper voice, changing the subject.
She adopts a look of deliberation before saying, “I’m guessing it’s the size of a sinkhole, so I doubt we’ll miss it. But I’d guess maybe another five kilometers before we get there.”
Aida gives a quick glance at Remus before letting out a sigh. “Then let’s get to it,” she says. “I’d fancy some fresh air right about now.”
Nodding, I adjust my satchel and rotate my shoulders to loosen up. Without fanfare, I lead the way through the tunnel. The energized bottle of crystals is pulsating with light in my hand.
The tunnels narrow and quicken once again after walking for several minutes, and the ceiling drops to a meter above our heads. The amount of crystal protrusions also grows smaller. The emerald light shines a bit dimmer. The echo of dripping water can be heard all within the tunnels, the noise reverberates with constant repetition.
We pass under an abrupt slump in the ceiling of the passageway and I hear Sarina sigh with reluctance before addressing me.
“So your father passed down that armor for inheritance?” she intones. “Forgive me, but how does a simple salvager end up possessing a relic like that?”
I look over my shoulder and acknowledge her shrewd attitude. “Thanks for that, I’m sure my father would’ve loved a compliment such as that,” I say with a derisive tone. It’s petty, but I won’t allow anyone to talk poorly about my father. “He wasn’t always a salvager. He used to be a… well, I actually don’t know what he did before coming to Erron’s Ville with me. I always assumed he inherited it just like I did.”
I slow my pace so that she comes right up next to me. She barely comes up to my shoulder, and yet I feel myself shrinking under her attention. I want to gauge what exactly is going through Sarina’s mind. She’s reclusive, yet inquisitive all at once. My father once taught me that: Our minds perpetually suffer the divine state of mania. Fear and joy. Anger and despair. All in an instant. The mind is ill, yet it is healthy.
I can’t help but wonder if this is the case with Sarina. One moment she’s like fire, fearful and angry. Then another moment she’s like water, calm and quiet. Either way, perhaps this might be a way to let her feel a bit more comfortable.
“You think he stole it, don’t you?” I inquire in return, arching an eyebrow playfully.
“Anything’s possible,” she shrugs mordantly. “Salvagers are well known for ‘claiming what’s not theirs’.”
I snort in offense. “So you’re calling us thieves?”
She adopts a faint grin. “Crafty devils would be an accurate title,” she retorts.
I return
her remark with a grin. I have no delusions about what I did for a living. Salvaging revolved around taking other people’s stuff and selling it. But our targets were always old Domain relics and such. I’m not sure what game she’s playing at, but I’ll play along. Simply for the sake of keeping her friendly.
“Crafty devils,” I repeat sarcastically. My voice turns theatric. “I’m now trying to imagine myself as such. Scouring the night for the perfect prize. Beware children. The crafty devils will steal your toys. I could steal from kids, right?” I gesture to myself.
She sizes me up with a look. “I doubt you’d even feel bad for stealing from kids,” she says jokingly, her eyes smile for a brief moment.
I adopt a mockingly flattered look. She says nothing more. For some reason, it feels good to see her smile even if it’s at the expense of myself. But a relationship has to be built upon something, and it feels good that we’ve developed a flicker of one. Where it could end up, I’m not sure—seeing that she wants to go out on her own.
Even though I’m reluctant to keep this group rallied, a small part of me feels enjoyment. It feels empowering. Even if all we have are surface relationships.
Chapter 10: Sarina
Pieces of the Puzzle
CHILLS CREEP UP MY SPINE as a cold tingle touches my skin. The gaping maw of the cavern seems as if it is about to swallow us all in its black depths. At points, I can see concentric rings of the glowing crystals spiraling into the tunnels ahead, as if they are trying to hypnotize us.
We’ve travelled for several hours into the cavern. It’s seemingly endless. The lack of sunlight and thick air is putting all of us on edge. So after a time, we take pause for a water break and to rest our legs within another small grotto. There seems to be a pattern in these mines. This grotto is larger than the last, large stalagmites protrude from the ground like spines. Tiny pieces of crystal are imbedded all around the formations— they sparkle like glitter. I sit in solitude.
I enjoy conversing with Tálir to some degree. He has charm and wit, but most of all he has a quiet charisma. He doesn’t overexert trying to lead us. I think that’s why we follow him. Something still tells me I can’t get too close to anyone here. Darkness within my mind prevents me from fully opening up. No matter how much I’d like to.
I look up and see Remus and Aida approaching me—both of whom bear expressions of concern as they sit next to me. The vines have fully entangled the tree, and I grow distant. I let it show, perhaps more than I intend.
“What do you want?” I ask, barely glancing at them.
“Well I was going to bring you up to speed, but seeing as you’re so apathetic to our concern, I guess we don’t have to say anything,” Aida replies with flustered irritation.
I was a bit harsh. Alright, I’ll let them in just a bit.
“Is this about the banquet you mentioned?” I inquire as she turns away. They both perk up slightly to my sudden change.
“Yes—” Remus grunts, his mouth seems to struggle forming the word. “Not— Sure— To— Tell— Others—”
“Fair enough,” I reply with a shrug. Wariness tugs at me. “Tell me what you know, then.”
Aida takes a deep breath. “We’re not exactly sure what started it all,” she recounts. “Remus and I were on a mission in Z’hart City’s upper district when we received an invitation to a diplomatic gala in the foreign embassy. While suspicious, we reluctantly accepted and came to participate in the festivities at the cathedral. There was a rally of commoners and miners outside protesting, but it wasn’t out of hand. We saw you behind one of the bars, pouring and stocking ales.
“Everything was going fine, but I saw something happen to you, Sarina. Many crowded around you and a fight broke out. You were fighting back, but the look in your eyes—it wasn’t natural. It was like you were intoxicated by something. Then the entire place erupted in pandemonium as the riots outside turned violent. We tried to help you, but the Imperials stunned you and dragged you off—claiming you started an uprising.”
My memory flashes before my eyes. The smell of ale. A burning, feverish rage unnaturally struck me. Pushing the man’s face away. Beating him in a frenzy. Fires erupted. Crowds fought. Then blackness.
The puzzle pieces are becoming clearer. But my mind races. How could I have done such a thing? Attacking a man without reason. But then I remembered the fever rage. It was unnatural. I had been drugged!
I suppress my growing dread, because I need to know more. “Putting aside the fact that I’d never do that,” I say quietly, my face contorted in confusion. “Doesn’t it seem a little convenient that the night this happens just so happened to be the same night you two showed up? How do I know you two aren’t the ones behind this?”
“We— Victims—” Remus says almost defiantly. He runs his fingers through his black hair.
“You’re not wrong to think like that,” Aida replies neutrally, sitting down in front of me. Her dark face reflects solemnness. “But if we are behind your drugging, why would we be captured, punished, and shipped off?”
“To keep an eye on me,” I affirm forcefully, crossing my arms.
“But being charged with high treason isn’t something they’d brand an undercover agent with,” Aida comments, nodding to Remus. “Amidst the chaos, many of us are rounded up by Imperials, and taken into custody. You, Remus, myself, and many others are charged with high treason against O’ran and Z’hart.”
My heart stops for a moment. I can feel the blood in my veins turning cold, and my breathing slows as I attempt to grasp what I heard. I feel hollow, as if some part of me has suddenly been taken away. Like the caves around us, part of me has been carved away—leaving an empty void.
High treason? I ask myself. Never in a thousand years would I think myself capable of such acts. Yet, I had. And the worst part is that it wasn’t the real me who did it. A drug induced rage made me into a tool to do it.
“Remus and I both concur,” Aida says after a moment—her fingers touching her smooth chin. “You had to have been given some drug or hallucinogen to provoke you into that behavior and also receive somewhat of a memory wipe. We also agree that it would take some powerful planning and skill to orchestrate something like this.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice sounding faint. Remus squats next to Aida. His long, leather jacket glistens with bright green reflections.
“Aside from the troubling circumstances of the event, we were all quickly taken by the Imperials and shipped off on a prison convoy without even a trial.” Aida replies, scratching her bald head. “They then isolate the three of us and ship us to a salvage pit in the Pyrack. Someone wanted us shipped off quickly to a remote salvage pit. And I’m still trying to piece that together.”
I say nothing for a moment, my thoughts fixated on what I’ve done. The guilt. The fear. The anger. A cyclone of emotions goes through me, and I feel sick to my stomach. It is a betrayal the likes which I’ve never felt before. My home city, where I was born and raised, had deceived me and set me up to be taken advantage of. I want to vomit. I’d been apprehended for committing high treason under the influence of a forced drug, how is that justice?
Fury begins to fill me as I keep trying to process this, and I start to hate those who have done this to me.
“What did they pick you up for?” I ask finally, finding a way to focus on something besides my rage.
She glances at Remus; her expression seems as if she’s asking for permission—to which Remus nods in approval. There’s a spark between them when their eyes make contact. Aida’s thick lips smile momentarily.
“Remus and I have been utilizing various resources to locate a place called Providence,” she relays quietly.
“What in all the Hells is Providence?” I ask with a perturbed look on my face.
“Domain—” Remus replies, cocking his head. Though it’s dimly lit, I can see his brown eyes reflecting a measure of purpose.
“It’s the legendary final fortress of the Dom
ain,” Aida clarifies. “Remus and I believe it exists. And our mission in Z’hart was to find resources that would help us locate it.”
“That’s impossible,” I say in disbelief. “If Providence isn’t a myth, why hasn’t anyone found it in this last millennium?”
“Because it’s a place so small that it has taken nine Cycles to even piece together a vague recollection about it,” Aida explains. “Many are not even aware of its myth. But there are old societies and historians who believe in these stories. I’m one such scholar.”
“So you were a scholar in Z’hart.” I say, piecing a bit of her background together. “What was Remus? Your bodyguard?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she says. Aida glances at him and places her hand gently on his shoulder. “Remus was part of an old Order, as Septem so kindly revealed. His studies led him to learn of the existence of this Providence myth. It drove him into more research, and that’s how he met me.”
I feel a bit of weight coming off my shoulders. Learning a bit about their pasts makes them seem less threatening, despite their talk about secret societies and such. But there was still the question as to why they were rounded up with me.
The Maven Knight (The Maven Knight Trilogy Book 1) Page 8