The old man looks at me with his aged dark eyes, notes of appreciation can be seen in his irises. He inclines his head slightly, a gesture of respect for not shooting him. I think he can sense my deliberations. Something else is in his look, however.
He turns his head to look at Aida and Remus. Aida is chilled by what had happened, but doesn’t leave Remus’ side. Inside I chuckle at her priorities. She’s not interested in fighting, just ensuring Remus is safe.
“I gave him a dose of the sedatives,” the old man says after a moment, eyeing Remus. “I hope you know that he has maybe a month left before the affliction consumes him. You’re going to need a lot more sedatives if you want him to last.”
Aida’s thick lips part in awe, and she looks from Remus to the man and back again. “How do you know about his condition?” she asks in disbelief.
The old man picks up a wooden spoon and starts tenderly stirring the stew. “I’m old and I know things,” he says wryly. He sprinkles some herbs into the soup then looks back at her. “When his spasms came, I searched your belongings for anything that could’ve been used for treatment. I can only assume that you’re this gaggle’s medic, based on the contents you carried.”
“How long have we been here?” I ask, scanning him.
He locks eyes with me. “Just under three hours,” he admits. “I’d hoped you’d all take the opportunity to sleep until morning, but I misjudged your tenacity.”
The four who’d been zapped by the energy gradually start to recover and push themselves off of the ground, their faces grimacing. “Ow,” Tálir strains to say, getting to one knee. “What in all the Hells was that for?”
“It amused me,” the old man mumbles wryly. “Humiliating the alpha male is always fun.”
“Let me rephrase that: what was that stuff you shot at us?” Tálir voices indignantly, endeavoring to stand. “Magic?”
The old man lets out a chuckle and stops stirring the stew. “In a matter of speaking. But I’m surprised you don’t know the full implications of your armor, Tálir. I suppose you wear it merely for show, rather than for its substance.”
Wait what?
No one speaks for the long moment. I’m thunderstruck that he knows Tálir by name. But Tálir evidently doesn’t know this man. So how did he know? Tálir’s tan face adopts a cautiously curious look, his hazel eyes reflect some measure of wonder.
“How do you know my name?” Tálir asks quietly, his eyes reflecting misgiving.
“I know all of your names,” the elder man grunts, surveying us. “I’ve been monitoring you all for some time.”
“Hold on, wait a second!” Vyck blurts out before standing up. “How long have you been watching us? Days, weeks, months, years?” His voice becomes nervous, and his green eyes widen.
The old man looks at him questioningly. “No, only since you entered the caves you imbecile.” Irritated frustration shows in his eyes.
“Oh… See I thought—”
“Just shut up, you dumb idiot!” Devin snaps, shooting Vyck a look.
The old man gives a lethargic look and holds up his hands in a placating manner. Devin and Vyck flinch with alarm even as the old man keeps his palms open in a gesture of friendliness.
“I’m not psychic,” he says dryly. “I installed proximity monitors within the Well and surrounding tunnels during my years of residing here. You are all also fairly loud.”
Now it all makes sense. The feeling we were being watched in the tunnels. That was merely the proximity monitors.
My mind jumps to another revelation. “You’re the one who created this cave,” I deduce, staring at him intently. “You must’ve excavated this place long after the Well was unearthed.”
The old man nods with vague appraisal. “Very good, Sarina. Although I figured that was obvious. This place was once a great harvester for the gems you’ve seen. This is one of many special mounds throughout the land that produce them naturally. Ore, minerals, and other materials were mined by the Domain in the years before their downfall. But after the Ending, it has long been unknown to the populace. It took a little research, but I found it after some time. And it serves as a nice incognito home.”
“In the years you’ve resided here, no one has stumbled upon this place?” I ask, lowering the boltpistol. “It’s hard to believe we’re the only ones who’ve found this place.”
He rocks his head. “Some have found this place, you’re right about that. But it normally just takes a hearty meal and some shiny valuables to keep a mouth shut.”
Devin snorts. “That sounds way too easy.”
The man doesn’t respond, but instead starts to portion the stew into eight separate wooden bowls before retrieving the roasted bat. Slicing the carcass delicately with a serrated knife, he places thin slabs of meat into the separate bowls before gesturing for us to take them.
“Cavebat stew.” He says, taking his own bowl. “It’s not much, but it’s heartier than the junk you’ve been eating.”
“It could be poisoned,” Vyck comments warily.
The old man looks at him askance; his eyes are full of condescension. “If it’s poisoned, then I suppose I’m a dead man,” he says, eating a spoonful.
Although Vyck has a point, I consider the logistics of it and it doesn’t add up. It’s a suspicious scenario. The proximity sensors, the gassing, and then taking us into his home. But my gut tells me that there’s nothing to fear.
“Why would he poison us after gassing us?” I ask Vyck. He scratches at his shaggy, blonde hair in thought. “If he wanted us dead, he could’ve killed us while we were unconscious.”
Vyck shuffles in discomfort. “Maybe he’s playing some sick game.”
Everybody sighs with exasperation. I wait until everyone has recovered before cautiously retrieving a bowl of stew. Despite being wary of danger, my stomach’s fatigue overrules everything else. I start to eat. My taste buds rejoice at the flavor of the stew, and my whole body relaxes in rejuvenation. The meat is tender and packed with flavor while the hot soup fills my stomach. I eat joyfully.
Tálir is next to do so, but his eyes still examine the old man’s armor. Everyone else reluctantly follows suite. Vyck starts examining the bowl and spoon for dangers before sniffing the stew. I snort in wry amusement at his attempts to be cautious. Everyone eats in silence, for it is the heartiest meal we’ve had all day. Eating scraps of rations was a bit of a strain on a stomach. The fire cackles before me, and I see the embers floating through the open roof.
◆◆◆
When everyone is finished, we sit comfortably with full stomachs. Our guards seem to remain up, however. The old man notices this, and addresses us all.
“If you’re still angry about the gassing, just put yourselves in my shoes,” he says, standing up with great effort. “Alone in a massive, dark cave with plenty of creatures prowling around. I don’t like anything sneaking up on me.”
“No, instead you just sneak up on us when we’re trying to escape,” Tálir voices sardonically. “I think that’s what we’re all bitter about. If you were monitoring us, you knew we were just trying to leave.”
The old man regards him. “Your supply rations,” he grunts, gesturing to our bags. “How long do you think those will last you? A few days?”
“Three to be exact,” Tálir replies, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What’s your point?”
“The nearest civilization is a week away.” The elder man scratches at his silver beard. “Erron’s Ville is two thousand kilometers to the northeast. Z’hart is two point five thousand kilometers to the north. And you’ll need to prepare for the activity of Roils since they are increasing exponentially.”
Two thousand kilometers? That seems nigh impossible to travel in. With the desert conditions, dwindling supplies, and threat of Roils, I don’t know how I could make it home. But, why would the Roils be increasing in activity?
“What do you mean?” I ask, leaning forward. I draw my legs to my chest.
; “You all just escaped one of the fastest Roils in living memory,” the old man says, pausing and facing us squarely. “If it wasn’t for Tálir’s equipment, you’d probably be dead. It’s not the first one I’ve seen. When I… acquired some supplies from a downed convoy two months back, a Roil chased me back home. It spawned out of nowhere, and spread to my area within minutes. Less than a month after, I heard a faster and longer Roil pass overhead. They’re no longer monthly storms. One could find you on your journey north.”
There is a pause that lingers in the air like mist. If what he said is true, there’s no way for us to make it to any shielded settlement in time if another Roil hits again. Are we going to be trapped in this mine shaft? My chest feels the heavy weight of dread pulling it down. But within that dread lurks something else. Resolve. I resolve to uncover the truth about what happened to me, and Z’hart is the only place I’ll find answers.
Roil or no, I won’t let anything stop me from hindering my progress for justice. Like the Roil earlier today, I won’t let the fear consume me.
“Is there no way for us to escape or outmaneuver these storms?” I ask the old man. A surprised look is etched on his dark face. “A way to stop them altogether?”
“There are some ways,” he says, placing his hands behind his back. “Abandoned shelters and caves dot the area between here and civilization. One has to know where to look. But there’s no permanent way to stop them unless you believe in legends.”
“Legends?” Tálir inquires, cocking his head slightly in wonder. “Legends of what?”
The old man doesn’t respond at first, instead electing to pull a pipe out of his coat. In the other pocket was a small vial of dark green leaves known as greenweed. He packs his pipe with a few of the herbs and lights it, pale smoke blowing from his nose.
“So many legends and so little time,” he says, his voice is raspy as he smokes. “I’ll have to keep this simple. It is said that during the fall of the Domain, weapons were used to eradicate sections of Pan’gea. With no continents to flee to, our ancestors were unable to hide from the destructive forces. Legends say that one such weapon was the Roils, and that during the Ending, the source of this weapon was lost. So it continues to activate and spread these storms across the lands.
“Over the Cycles, we’ve developed some methods of defending against them. Reverse engineering Domain shields can deflect the small storms, but I sense that these ones are weaker than what came before. Our current defenses won’t be effective against a true Roil. If they aren’t shut down at their source, the world may be doomed to a second Ending.”
I reflect on the gravity of this. Deep down, I sense that he’s right, and that things will only get worse if no one steps up to fight the real fight. But I’m no fighter, and I never will be. This task should be left to someone who can battle for the good of all. The only thing I want to do is to solve the mystery of the banquet.
Before I can say anything, Remus speaks up for the first time in hours. “Way— To— Stop— It—” he says in response to the old man’s tale. “Find— Providence—”
Everyone stares at Remus in unreserved incredulity. I know his mission is to find the mythic location, but then I realize something. This Providence place could be the key to saving the world from the Roils. That’s why he seems so determined to find this place. Things are starting to make more sense.
“What is Providence, Remus?” Tálir asks before I can say anything.
Remus gives Aida a look, for he knows he’s unable to properly convey his descriptions. “Providence is said to be the last bastion of the Domain. Their final stronghold before the Ending. Some say it holds the source of their knowledge. But many believe it to be the source of a weapon of mass destruction. It’s hard to tell. The legends aren’t exactly forthcoming.”
“Providence is a myth, long forgotten by the world, Remus,” the old man grouses with a bit of melancholy. “Trust me—many have tried to find it. But all have failed. Miserably.”
There is some deep-rooted regret emanating from the old man, and his dark eyes reflect mournful loss. He starts to avert his gaze back to the fire pit, orange light dancing in his eyes.
“Only fanatics truly believe it exists, and are crazy enough to look for it,” he finishes.
“Not— Fanatic—” Remus says, making a placating gesture. “Find— Providence— Save— World—”
“That sounds like a massive undertaking.” Devin snorts, sitting back against the wall. “A bit too grandiose for my tastes.”
His words are selfish, but there’s some truth in them. If any of us are to undertake this task, our personal goals will be thrown to the wind. I can’t risk following a quest when I need to find answers.
“You might actually be right, Devin,” I say reluctantly, hating the words. “This notion seems more attuned to true heroes. I’m not sure any of us qualify.”
“Bone that, I’m hero-type!” Vyck butts in, his face flushed with indignity.
Remus’ eyes find mine, and a novel is written in the look he gives me. All of his dreams, hopes, and aspirations are bound by this mission he has. But he also recognizes that he can’t do it alone, even with Aida’s help. He understands my priorities, but I think he wants me to look at the bigger picture. I give him a look of pity, but I stand firm.
Remus in turn looks at Aida, and she conveys his words. “Will any of you help us once we leave this place?”
“You’re asking us now?” Devin scoffs. “Why not bring this shit up earlier?”
“You didn’t ask,” she replies simply. “We know it’s a lot to ask from a group of strangers. But this is the world we’re talking about. All of you will be affected by this sooner or later. But we can stop it! We can—”
The old man holds up his hand and cuts her off. I can see exhaustion tugging at his features.
“Let’s finish this discussion in the morning,” the old man says before yawning. Seeing his bleariness, I’m suddenly starting to feel tired as well. “Just a few hours out. Get a bit of rest, think about this more, have something to eat, and then you laddies can discuss this predicament further.”
“Cutting right to the chase,” I sniff. “Who are you anyways?”
“I’m just an old hermit who spends way too much time cooking,” he says with droll humor, turning his back to me. “But you can call me Abrax.”
Chapter 13: Tálir
Lost Ideals
LIGHT FROM THE EARLY morning sun passes through the roof while we recuperate within Abrax’s lair. I’m glad everyone decided to rest before continuing the discussion. The elderly man had rolled out several, straw-stuffed mattresses for us to rest upon while he went deeper into his home for sleep. Our cots line the perimeter of the fire pit, and everyone stripped their equipment before resting. The fire crackles in front of me, and the rays of morning seep in through the opened crevasse meters above us. I hear a light breeze over the sparking fire, along with the snores of Devin and Vyck.
I sit up with my knees drawn to my chest, and I gaze into the fire in a sleep-like trance. I’ve removed my pieces of armor and set them next to my cot—the bronze armor looks burnished in the orange glow.
I’d slept for an hour, but restlessness and agitation roused me from slumber. So I turn to my thoughts for comfort while the others sleep, and I try to grasp the events of the night even as the bruise on my chest throbs.
Abrax had demonstrated powers currently beyond our skill levels. The magical energy harnessed by his armor seemed impossible. Yet, he did it. Even despite its age and state of incompletion, Abrax’s armor channeled magic effortlessly. It took four of us out in the span of mere seconds. Jealousy crawls within my chest. I’ve never been able to channel any sort of energy through my armor. And I think I’ve figured out why.
My father told me that the armor needs to be powered by something small and sustainable. Batteries, ion charges, and even ship energy cells never worked when I tried. But after finding this
place, seeing the pulsating emerald gems, and watching Abrax channel his magic, I make the deduction.
These crystals are the mystical power sources of the armor, I conclude to myself.
Initially, I dismissed the idea for its absurdity. How could a gem power a suit of armor and give it magical powers? But the more I think about it, the more it seems plausible. When we first noticed them, the crystals seemed to have a deposited energy within them. That energy can likely be harnessed through some means. The armor has to be the true conduit, just like the gems are the true power source. One can’t be fully used without the other.
Quietly, I shuffle through the bits of the suit and obtain my right gauntlet. The rigid and ceremonial design practically blends in with the firelight. I fit my hand and arm into the gauntlet, flexing my fingers through the individual digit plates. This time, however, I examine it more closely than I’ve ever done. There has to be some mechanism that loads the crystals.
I discover a small, flat button imbedded in one of the symbols underneath the bracer. In all my years, I haven’t even come close to seeing this mechanism. Perhaps because I wasn’t looking for it in the past. I press it, and a small chamber about the length and width of a thumb opens. The interior is indeed some sort of conduit that can channel a solid energy source.
Quietly, I retrieve the glass bottle full of gems and pour out one of the ingots before placing it in the chamber. It fits perfectly as I close the contraption. For a moment, nothing happens.
The terminal in the wrist hums to life, and the metal vibrates as the energy courses through it. I can feel the power of the gauntlet as it charges up, and the vibration begins creeping towards my outstretched fingertips. I open up the terminal and a small dial reads 50% Charge. And it keeps increasing. As the sensation reaches its pitch, my eyes widen in surprise as I whisper, “Oh shit.”
The Maven Knight (The Maven Knight Trilogy Book 1) Page 11