There were many reasons a zul master might choose to light a fire outside of the entrance to his or her cave, among those being to roast a spit of vegetables, something Ah’Rhea enjoyed doing quite mightily. But as the color of the flames turned from orange to green, she knew the reason this particular fire had been lit was to request audience with another master.
Ah’Rhea watched the flames intently, trying to remember whose cave she was looking at. A moment later the color of the flames turned from green to red, and her interest was further piqued. It wasn’t that this never happened, but every once in a while, a zul master had reason to speak to another zul master, and the colored flames were the ancient tradition of requesting such an audience. It was a formal practice, and the younger zul masters didn’t always adhere to the tradition. However, every zul master in the valley was assigned a sequence of colors, and if you saw your sequence in the flames, you were expected to meet at the fire.
Green and red were the first two colors of Ah’Rhea’s sequence, and she assumed those colors were not uncommon. However, the next change saw the flames turn blue, and now Ah’Rhea stood from her chair. She set her wine bottle down and locked her vision on to the flame in the distance. If it changed to green again, it would complete her sequence. She searched her mind for whose cave she was looking at and for some reason could not remember. There were thirty-two zul masters living in the cliffside caves, and she knew the names of every one of them. Yet for some reason, she was having difficulty coming up with the name of this specific cave’s owner. She continued watching, and then the flames turned green. Dread flushed Ah’Rhea as she realized she was being called.
She sat back down and sighed. The last thing she wanted was to have to meet with another zul master. She couldn’t imagine what mundane issue the master might direct her way. She picked up her wine bottle off of the table and tipped it back. Then Reego barked at her and followed up with a whimper.
“What?” she asked and lowered the bottle.
The jawhar looked back out over the valley, and Ah’Rhea followed his gaze. The flames had changed color again. They were now black and sending billows of dark smoke into the air. Ah’Rhea’s eyes widened with shock. She had been called for an emergency. A zul master was dying.
IV
The twins were starving. It had been hours since they had lunch, which consisted of packed sandwiches in the transport vehicle, and Zerah was wishing she had actually eaten the candy bar she left behind. Despite the fact their uncle had promised a meal without meat, the twins wanted to get to the dining room for dinner as fast as possible. There was the thought that if they waited too long, Rainart may not be patient enough to wait for them before throwing their food away. So without making any true decisions on which room would belong to whom, they rummaged through their luggage for any garments that hadn’t been soaked by the rain. Zigmund ended up in a yellow tank top and a pair of red flannel pants he slept in on cold nights. Zerah wore a green blouse with a triangle of sequins down the middle and a pair of light denim shorts.
“You look ridiculous,” Zerah said, looking her brother up and down.
“Everything else was wet,” Zigmund answered with slumped shoulders. “You know what? Let’s just go eat dinner and get this over with. Then I can go to bed. Tomorrow can’t be any worse than today.”
The teens walked down the stairs Rainart had descended earlier, and quickly realized they didn’t know what floor the dining room was on. The floor directly underneath where they had come from looked like nothing more than a long hallway with doors on either side, so they continued down another flight. When they reached the next floor, their uncle met them on the staircase.
“You sound like a pair of elephants coming down these stairs,” Rainart said. “Follow me.”
The floor they followed Rainart down to seemed just like the nondescript hallways above, presumably a series of doors, each leading to a small room such as a bedroom or study. However, once Rainart led them through one of the doors on the left, they saw it wasn’t a small room on the other side but a very long room that looked as though it might be for entertaining company. The twins could see out the great window that spanned the length of the wall both high and wide, and watched as the lightning splashed across the black sky, far over the ocean. The ceiling was fine lacquered wood, and so was the floor, though it was covered with ornate rugs Zigmund thought might be Middle Eastern in design. The wall opposing the window was painted deep purple, and roughly every ten feet, there was a glass display case housing some strange artifact or treasure. Where they entered the room sat a series of sofas and chairs facing one another, with small tables here and there beside them. The room had to be forty feet long at least, and as Zerah looked to the other end of the room, she saw a large dining table that had been set for three.
Rainart walked briskly for a man with a limp, and the teens followed, eager for food. Rainart sat at the far head of the table, in front of a plate that had been cleaned already. Next to it sat a large glass filled with red wine. Zerah and Zigmund sat across from each other, one seat down from the head.
“Eat,” Rainart said. “I’ll do the talking.”
The twins looked at their plates, a multicolored mixture of vegetables in what looked like a creamy green sauce. Zerah picked her fork up and poked at spongy white squares among the vegetables and sauce. Her mother had tried to get her to eat tofu once, and it hadn’t gone over well. She looked up at Zigmund, who dug his fork into a square and promptly plunged it into his mouth. He gave his sister a silent glare that let her know she had better get used to tofu, and fast. Zerah resigned herself to her fate.
“It’s very good, Uncle. Thank you,” Zigmund said, exhibiting his ability to be an apt pupil.
“Yes,” Zerah added.
“Thank you,” Rainart said gruffly, raising his glass to his stern lips. “It’s my favorite curry. I make it often.”
“You made it?” Zerah couldn’t help but blurt out.
“Do you see anyone else here?” Rainart’s eyebrows came down like the outline of a great black bird.
“I didn’t mean…” Zerah said. “It’s just…the place is so big.”
“You thought I would have servants,” Rainart finished for her. The girl shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t believe in them,” Rainart said. “People don’t deserve the things they don’t procure for themselves. We obviously can’t be totally self-sufficient creatures, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do what we can.” Rainart put his glass down and placed his large hands on the table, pushing down as he rose out of his seat. He turned to a large cabinet behind his chair and quickly turned back with a bottle of wine. “Would either of you care for a glass? Cabernet, full bodied, with notes of cherry. It’s quite good.”
The teens noticed they each had two glasses in front of them; one was filled with water, the other empty, obviously prepared for this moment. Zerah stared at her uncle with a twinkle in her eye and her mouth hanging open in surprise. Zigmund was not as awestruck or impressed.
“We’re fourteen,” Zigmund said, as if his uncle were a complete idiot.
Rainart placed the bottle down on the table and sat back down. “Well, if that means the answer is no, you’re missing out.”
Zerah shot an incredulous look at her brother as if to say, Damn it, Ziggy. I wanted some wine. However, Zigmund gave her a stern look in response that threatened her into following his example.
Rainart took a long draught from his glass, swished it around in his mouth, and swallowed with a grunt of satisfaction. Zerah gave Zigmund a look of pleading, but the young man wouldn’t budge. As far as he was concerned, they were out of their element, and it was best to be wary.
Rainart spoke again. “I want the both of you to know I am deeply grieved by your mother’s passing. I regret I was unable to attend the funeral, but that was a decision well out of my control. I am also very sorry for the two of you. I am aware of the traumas associated with having your life uprooted suddenly
. It is something I have some experience with.”
Zigmund had been rubbed the wrong way by the wine offering. Instead of seeing it as a gesture of trust, he saw it as a backhanded way to point out the fact he and Zerah were still children. Being irritated by that, he wasn’t in the mood to let it slide that his uncle hadn’t said he was sorry about the passing of Zigmund’s father as well as the passing of his mother.
“Our mother wasn’t the only one who passed, Uncle,” Zigmund said with restraint.
Rainart glared at Zigmund and pursed his lips. It would have been a lie for Zigmund to say the man didn’t intimidate him. Everything about Rainart was intimidating. He was large, possibly larger than the twins’ father had been, and he was dark in almost every aspect. He wore a dark goatee and had eyes to match. His shoulder-length black hair had some gray in it and was tied back, revealing a scar along the right side of his neck that looked like a crack in glass. He wore all-black clothing as if he were a smuggler or a thief. Even the fact that Rainart was in his midforties and had a noticeable limp only seemed to add to his mystique.
Rainart surveyed the boy like a predator and then returned to his wine glass. “Your father was a prick,” he said. “I’m not sorry he’s dead. I’m only sorry he was your father and sorry he married my sister.” Rainart gulped the last of his wine, proceeded to pour himself a fresh glass, and huffed.
Zerah leaned back in her chair, and her eyes widened, threatening to bring tears. Zigmund clenched his fists on the tabletop and glared at his uncle. He knew his father was a prick, but he would be damned if he was going to be all right with his uncle saying it so bluntly.
“Damn it,” Rainart continued. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You’ve been through a lot.” The man paused and stared at his glass before continuing. “I owe you an explanation. One, at least. You deserve to know why this is the first time we’ve met. It’s the same reason I wasn’t able to attend Adeline’s funeral—sorry, Adeline and Cal’s funeral. However, I need one promise from the two of you before I tell you this. I’m going to tell you something about me most people in this world don’t know, something your father didn’t even know. You cannot, under any circumstances, tell anyone what I tell you tonight. Do you promise? You live with me now, and I have to provide for you. Sharing this information could prevent me from doing so.”
Zigmund’s brow furrowed. The quick apology wasn’t winning him over, but Zerah looked interested and once again amenable. Zigmund decided this wasn’t the time to upset dinner and held his tongue. He and Zerah each nodded. The teens both agreed to say nothing.
“I’ll hold you to it,” Rainart warned. “Your word should mean something in this world. God knows little else does. Now, what I’m about to tell you will sound like the biggest pile of bullshit anyone has ever spit at you. You’d be fools to take it at face value, but rest assured, time will vindicate my words. As you stay here, there will be more and more of my work you will become exposed to. I’d be the fool if I thought I could prevent that completely. With that said, you’re going to have questions, comments, and doubts about what I tell you. Try to hold them in and just listen for now.
“Now, I’d say it’s likely you’ve heard of the scandal that tore down the DELA Corporation five years ago. Stories about the company conducting grotesque genetic experimentation in an underwater facility they called the Hive.” The teens nodded. “You would have also heard of the death of DELA Corporation’s head, Elgrey Vinsidian, as well as the subsequent destruction of the Hive.” The teens nodded again. These stories had been on every news program across the globe when they had happened. “What you certainly would not have heard about, though, is the organization I work for and how that organization is partially responsible for ending the atrocities committed by the DELA Corporation.
“My employer is called IONH, and that is an acronym that stands for In Our Noble Hands. There are very wealthy people, from different places and different philosophies, that fund our group. They do so in order to have an organization that protects against tyranny and abuse of power at its highest levels. We live in a world full of individuals, groups, and corporations, such as DELA Corp, who have so much money and influence they can become tyrants over a great deal of people who are powerless against them. IONH works to stop that abuse of power. To put it in more concise terms, when the biggest fish in the pond decides to throw its weight around, we fry that fish.”
“So you were responsible for taking down DELA Corporation?” Zerah asked with excitement. She had obviously decided to believe everything her uncle was telling her implicitly. Zigmund shook his head in disappointment.
“No,” Rainart responded. “I wasn’t personally involved with that mission, but I did help to recruit and train the agent who was directly involved. I used the example of the DELA Corporation to draw parallels. I thought the two of you might be familiar with that situation, and it would help to explain my situation, or more poignantly, why I have been absent from your lives until now. You see, there are mainly two types of missions an agent of IONH is given. The first is to extinguish a problem. As I said, fry the fish. The second—”
“You’ve killed people?” Zerah said with her jaw agape. Zigmund was disturbed that she seemed so impressed by that possibility. However, Rainart ignored her question and continued.
“The second type of mission is to infiltrate a situation and learn as much as possible. These missions can take years, and often do. The agent who helped bring down DELA Corp had to become an employee of the company and work her way up the ranks until she had gained the necessary access to help remedy the problem. This is the type of mission I was on. I was on it for quite a while.”
Zigmund was unsatisfied by such a vague answer. “So what was your mission?” he said with a disdainful tone. “What was so important?”
The air of contempt wasn’t lost on Rainart, and he threw it back at the teen without pause. “You’re too young and inexperienced to be given that information. I can’t take that risk with you.”
“So what? Did you just finish your fish fry yesterday then? Is this your first day back?” Zigmund wasn’t happy with his uncle’s story, and he was becoming openly flippant.
“No,” Rainart said and took a large gulp from his wine glass, purposefully using the glass as a reason to avert his eyes. For the first time, the teens felt as though they had caught the man in something. His answer was odd, and they noticed how he took his eyes away from them as soon as it left his lips.
“How long have you been back?” Zerah asked, each of her words coming slow, as if they were tiptoeing closer to something dangerous.
Rainart tilted his head back and drained another glass of wine. He placed it down and looked Zigmund directly in the eyes.
“Four years.”
Zigmund stood up and slapped his cloth napkin down on his plate. “You see, Zerah? He’s full of shit.”
“Watch your mouth,” Rainart grumbled.
But it was too late. Zigmund had been pushed too far. He was tired and frustrated, and his heart was aching.
“You couldn’t even come to the funeral? Four years you’ve been back. Four years. You know all she wanted to do was to see you.” Now the fourteen-year-old was crying, his words coming wet and trembling. “It’s the only thing she ever asked for during her sickness. She was dying, and she wanted to see her brother. Do you know how many unanswered messages we sent to you? My father might’ve been a prick, but he was a saint compared to you.”
“Twelve,” Rainart said, staring the boy down like a cornered dog. “Twelve messages. I got them all.”
“Fuck you!” Zigmund yelled and stormed out of the dining room.
Zerah sat stunned, looking down at her plate. She thought she should run after her brother, but she didn’t want to. She was so sick of sadness, so tired of the stress and the constant nervous pain in her stomach. She just wanted it all to go away. She reached up and wiped her eyes with the cloth napkin. She wasn’t sobbing, but
the tears were there anyway. It seemed as if they were always there.
Rainart sat with clenched fists on either side of his empty plate. Zerah saw him out of the corner of her eye, and his hardened face slowly softened. He closed his eyes and brought one hand up to allow his head to rest on it.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m sorry, Zerah. I don’t have an explanation for you.” Rainart reached for the bottle, realizing it was empty when he lifted it.
Zerah noticed the sullen way her uncle set the empty bottle back down on the table. Rainart wanted more wine. Maybe he needed more. She saw an opportunity, and she reached out for it.
“I’ll get another bottle,” Zerah offered. “Are they in the kitchen? Just tell me how to find it, and—”
“Not the kitchen,” her uncle said. He pointed to a door beside the dining table. It was the only door in the room other than the one they had come in by, the one Zigmund had exited by. “The room across the hall. You’ll find them. They’re everywhere.”
Zerah got up quickly and made her way through the door and into the room across the hall. Then she closed it behind her with full knowledge of her plan. She needed escape from the sadness. She had been living with it for what seemed like so long that she couldn’t handle it anymore. She needed relief.
There was a tall wine cabinet in the small room. It was half-full of bottles, their necks hanging out of the crossed wooden slats at a downward slope. She had no idea why wine was kept like that, but she had seen it before. The rest of the room was devoid of furniture, but there were boxes littering the floor. Each cardboard box she opened the lid of was a box of wine bottles, all full. Zerah guessed there were over one hundred bottles in the room.
The Hands of Ruin: Book One Page 5