“I am Head of the Amethyst Order,” she continued. “I stand opposed to the Highest. I fight for el’Yatza.” She took the chair to Sal’s right. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw the barest hint of a smile play stealthily across her lips.
There was no smile on Jaren’s face when he appeared though. Cleaned up, the mage almost seemed a new man, with his chestnut hair neatly swept back and wearing robes and finery befitting his station, as the other Heads of Order were. No smile, to be sure, but no other expression of familiarity either. Jaren was all business.
“I am Jaren of Darsen’s Way. I am Head of the Emerald Order. I stand opposed to the Highest. I fight for el’Yatza.”
That last was said with a conviction Sal thought had to have been born well before Schel Veylin prison. The assembly might have noticed it as well, for they issued a soft murmur of approval as Jaren took his seat.
All seats now filled, Sal’s eyes returned to the bottom of the stairs and fell upon Reit, dressed in tan studded leather. His shining black hair fell in waves about his shoulders, and his goatee and mustache were neatly trimmed. Other than a sheathed sword belted to his side, he wore no finery. Nothing to set him apart from the people he led.
Oddly enough, the same could be said for Retzu. His armor was a dull black studded leather, cut to allow ease of movement. He wore his gold-hilted sword strapped to his back. His hair fell to one side of the hilt, bound in a ponytail by a plain gold clip that matched his hilt. His facial hair matched his twin’s exactly, adorning a somber face that defied his very nature. That look, if nothing else, brought home to Sal the gravity of the situation.
Reit ascended the dais and took his place directly behind Sal’s chair, while Retzu stood guard at the foot of the steps. “I am Reit Windon du’Nograh of Aitaxen,” he said with an authority that surprised even Sal. “I am called el’Yatza, the Hand of the Crafter. I stand opposed to the Highest. And I fight for my people.”
His last words were met with a deafening cheer, surprisingly loud for such a small assembly. In the surrounding forests, whole flocks of birds took to the air in response, covering the sky in a feathered rainbow. All around the village, people paused in their daily chores for just a moment to take in the ruckus on the green, and then returned to their various duties.
After a few moments, Reit raised his hands for order, which was grudgingly granted. But if anyone was offended by Reit’s call for silence, they showed no sign. The flock before the dais obeyed their shepherd with an appreciation and respect that approached reverence.
“By your leave...” he prompted, indicating the mages spaced out around the dais. As one, they nodded their assent, granting him permission to proceed.
The rebel leader clamped his hands behind him and started to casually circle the central chair, keeping his eyes locked on Sal. Sal got the distinct impression of being sized up by a tiger, trying to decide the best way to attack his prey.
“You are an outsider,” Reit began simply enough, addressing Sal in a decidedly non-ritualistic tone. It seemed enough to explain the situation and cut to the heart of the matter. Sal could respect that. “We know nothing of you, your past, your intentions. During the course of this... interview, we shall try to rectify that. Please put yourself at ease, and answer each question honestly and to the fullest extent of your knowledge. Remember, no harm will befall you if you are found true, no matter your allegiance. Now then, please state your name for those assembled.”
“James Edward Salvatori, Lieutenant, United States Navy,” Sal answered, wondering idly if he should offer his service number as well.
“True,” came three voices, followed by an uncertain, drawling “false”. Sal whipped his head around in confusion. Seemingly unperturbed, as if this were a mere matter of course, Reit paused for a moment and gave the floor to the mage, Menkal.
“He’s not at peace with his answer,” said the sapphire carefully, searching for the right words. “While the answer is essentially true, it’s my opinion that this is not the name he answers to most comfortably.”
Reit nodded his thanks and resumed his pacing. “How are you most comfortably known, James Edward Salvatori?” he asked.
Knowing no other way to answer, Sal shrugged and said, “My friends call me Sal.” This time, he was rewarded with an unbroken chorus of “true.”
Suddenly, it became clear to Sal what was going on, or at least in part. On their flight from Schel Veylin, Jaren had spoken a little about the magical way that mages view the world. Emeralds saw the processes of all things living, sapphires saw stress levels... Having all four types of mages here concentrating their special abilities on him, they were acting like one big polygraph machine.
As he reached this realization, he heard the soprano’s voice murmur, “He’s a sharp one.”
“I agree,” Menkal said. “He just grew very excited, and is now at a deep level of peace. I believe he’s figured something out.”
Reit raised his eyebrows meaningfully, prompting Sal to explain. “I just realized that this is a lie-detector test. Your people need to be able to accept me, so the first thing you gotta figure out is how honest I can be with you. Even the assurance of safety is no guarantee that I can be trusted. That’s why the mages are here—to see if I’m holding back.”
Reit nodded appreciatively. “Yes, but that is a discussion for later. Let us continue. Where are you from?”
“Dothan, Alabama.”
True.
“And where is this place?”
“The United States of America.”
True.
Sal heard whispers among the council. Obviously, this sophisticated and learned council, with all their apparent knowledge of their world, had never heard of such a place. He suddenly felt his lips twitch in mirth. He knew where this was headed.
“I’ve never heard of this ‘America’,” Reit said, confirming Sal’s suspicions. “Where is it?”
“On a planet called Earth,” said Sal, his smile growing.
True. The murmurs grew louder.
“Are you saying that you are not of this world?”
“That’s correct.”
True. The murmuring was stifled in gasps of astonishment, some of which came from the lie-detecting mages themselves. All except for Jaren, who’s own lips twitched, briefly mirroring Sal’s grin before resuming their stoic cast.
“Do you know how you got to this world?”
“No.”
True.
Reit paused for a moment, and changed his line of questioning.
“What was your occupation in your world?”
“I was a Navy SEAL—a member of an elite military group.”
True.
“Ah, a soldier. A warrior. And were you in battle when you came to this world?”
“Yes.”
True.
“Who was the last person you saw in your world?”
That one caught Sal by surprise. Why in the world would this be relevant? Sal couldn’t believe that Reit was planning to make him out to be a traitor, consorting with the enemy. If he’d wanted to do away with Sal, he could have done it any time he’d chosen to. Brushing the irrational fear aside, Sal took a deep breath and answered. “I believe it to have been what you call a granite mage.”
True.
The council exploded. Questions of “how?” and “why?” filled the air as Reit again raised his hands for order. Silence was slow in coming, and not complete when it finally did, but Reit pressed on.
“How is it possible that a granite from our world could appear in a battle in your world?”
“I don’t know.”
True.
“Do you think that the granite might be the common element, or even the cause, of your unexpected visit to our world?”
Sal was stunned silent. It was so simple. Why hadn’t he seen it sooner? “Yes,” he said breathlessly. “I think it’s possible. But how…?”
“That is an important question, but one f
or a day when we can devote the time and resources to finding the solution. Right now, though, I have one more line of questioning.” Reit paused for effect, but it was evident even before he spoke that this portion of the interview had been preplanned, one that Sal had been deftly maneuvered into. “Our Cause is one of freedom. Is this a cause worth fighting for in your world?”
“Yes.”
True.
“Our Cause constantly pits us against the minions of the Highest, who often are, or are affiliated with, the Granite Order. Would you say that it’s possible that we share a common enemy?”
A sober question, and a loaded one. Sal knew what Reit was asking him, and he suddenly realized just how far-reaching such a commitment could be. He knew coming in that Reit would expect Sal to pull his weight, to become more than just a resident of his rebel village. He wasn’t inviting Sal to be a guest—he was inviting Sal into his world. Reit wanted to recruit Sal, heart and soul, for his Cause, a proposition that may one day come in conflict with his own personal plans to return to Earth. He almost balked, the fear of never returning home weighing heavily on him. But as he let his eyes wander among the council, he saw the fear and desperation beneath their masks of dignity, and instantly he was ashamed of himself. Here he was, worried about never getting home again, while these people were fighting for their very lives. Wasn’t that why he went into the Navy for in the first place, to protect those who enjoyed freedom and to bring freedom to those who had none?
Sal’s breath caught in his throat. He was here, being given the opportunity to do exactly what he’d always wanted to do. Maybe the wrong planet, but nonetheless the right fight. With no further doubt, Sal firmly said “Yes.”
True.
***
By late morning, the council at the bottom of the dais was satisfied, and one of their number gave a nod to a young boy who’d been standing in attendance. Immediately, the runner hopped off the steps of the dais and sprinted into the surrounding village. Seeing this, Reit stopped pacing and turned to face Sal fully, a satisfied, yet dignified smile stretching across his face.
“Lieutenant James Edward Salvatori... Sal... You have been asked many questions, some of which I’m sure you found a bit personal, but you answered all with great poise and integrity. I’ll not dishonor that integrity by calling upon you to swear fealty to me, as some leaders would. I am no great man, only a man with a great burden. I ask you, of your own accord, to share that burden with me and those who follow me, for as long as you would see fit.” With that, he offered his right hand to Sal.
Sal knew that this part was just a formality. He’d been accepted by Reit, the village council, all the folks that really mattered. But it filled him with pride all the same to take his friend’s hand and complete the cycle. The council cheered and crowded into the pavilion to greet their new brother-in-arms.
After a few moments, Reit worked his way into the tumult and cleared a path for Sal. As they neared the steps leading down to the green, Reit waved his hand out before them. “Sal, behold your new home.”
Sal stepped down from the platform amidst myriad welcomes, ranging from handshakes to pats on the back to all-out embraces from the women of the village. Embarrassed at first, Sal grew accustomed to it as the greeting wore on. Not that he had much choice in the matter, anyway. It wasn’t so much the contact that embarrassed him as the attention. But he was the new guy, and he just went through the interview from Hell. He supposed the welcome was sort of an apology for having to go through that. Apology accepted, he thought, snickering as he hugged a particular fluffy, grandmotherly woman.
Finally, the crowd disbursed and went their separate ways, leaving the twins and Jaren to help Sal settle in.
First order of business was to find Sal a place to live. The foursome left the village square for the streets, giving Sal a leisurely tour as they went. Various shops were pointed out—blacksmith, carpenter, fletcher—as well as strategically defensible spots within the village structure. Sal was pleased to note that the rebels, though little more than a collection of farmers, rowdies, and hicks, were fairly well organized. Sal attributed it to leadership. Reit seemed to bring out the best in these people, and that he commanded their fiercest loyalty was unquestioned. Even as they strolled casually through the streets, Sal noticed the gleams of encouragement in the eyes of the villagers as they picked up the pace of their work, if only to garner a smile from their el’Yatza.
The troop stopped at a supply wagon, just a few rows in from the village green. The wagon, though not much larger than Sal’s accommodations from the night before, was heavily laden with awnings, tools, and scrap wood. With the help of his friends, Sal picked out what supplies he needed to build a respectable tent and the amenities to furnish it. These he put off in one corner of the wagon, to be retrieved after the tour.
They continued on, covering little more than a third of the town by the time they reached Reit’s wagon at the end of a main thoroughfare not far from Sal’s supply wagon. Nearly twice as large as Sal’s “guest quarters”, Reit’s wagon was still sleek enough to be easily moved by one horse. The door and shutters were brightly painted, and decorated to give it a homey feel that obviously did not belong to a bachelor. Sal spied a fire burning in a pit on the far side of the wagon, with a large black kettle suspended over the flames. Reit directed his friends toward a cluster of seat pillows ringing the fire. He didn’t exactly invite his friends to dine with him; it was simply understood.
Still many feet away from the fire pit, the smell of stewed meat and potatoes tickled Sal’s nose, bringing fond memories of the night before. But before Sal could ask who he had to thank for the repast, she presented herself.
Delana, the mage from Eastwind Delta.
“I believe you’ve already met my wife,” Reit said by way of introduction. Delana curtsied prettily, bringing an adoring smile to Reit’s face, and a thunderstruck look to Sal’s. “I apologize if I offend you, Sal, but you were an outsider, and custom would not allow even me the courtesy of properly introducing you earlier. At least she was able to prepare your quarters last night.”
“Oh no... I understand,” Sal assured him, then turned to Delana, stumbling through an awkward bow. “I thank you for your hospitality, ma’am.”
This brought a charming giggle from the amethyst, who shooed formality away and embraced Sal warmly. “We’ll get along just fine, Sal. So long as you promise never to call me ma’am again, that is,” she said with mock seriousness. “Besides, it was the least I could do, you boys having just missed Sowing and all.”
“Sowing?”
“One of our five festivals. All in good time,” Reit said, waving off Sal’s confusion and offering him a seat.
They took their ease around the firepit, and Delana served up steaming bowls of the stew. As Sal received his bowl, he asked, “So what was all the fuss about when the ‘interview’ was done?”
“Being greeted by the village?” Reit asked quizzically. “Are your customs not similar in your world?”
“No way. You move in, and that’s it.” Sal said, talking around a mouthful of the succulent meat. “I mean, in smaller towns it’s a bit different. You got the welcome wagon, people who volunteer their time to make newcomers feel at home, but nothing like that!”
“Our custom is influenced by our situation,” Jaren said. “We are looked upon as criminals by the ruler of this land, and we are constantly under attack. This has caused each one of our villages to become more like families than communities. And as such, we tend to treat each newcomer as a long lost brother.”
“Good way to put it,” Retzu commented. “Fact is, we actually get very few newcomers, so we view each one as a blessing from the Crafter Hisself.”
Before Sal could ask the younger twin to elaborate, Delana returned to some of the trial topics, and asked Sal to expand on some of the more personal answers—family, friends, female attachments back home and the like. He muddled through as best he could, Delana liste
ning with keen, calculating interest. He made the sad mistake of revealing his bachelor status, and she pounced on that tidbit like a drunk on a fifth of Jack. Sal had the sinking feeling that his friend’s wife was already trying to play matchmaker.
“So what attracted you to Reit?” Sal said, desperately hoping to get out from under the microscope for a few minutes. He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Already in matchmaking mode, the question could only serve to fan the flames of her interest. Why couldn’t he pick something less romantic to talk about—like, say, favorite summertime diseases?
“I’d have to say it was his confidence, his determination,” she said thoughtfully. Sal heard Retzu stifle a chuckle. Apparently, so did Delana, for she made a distinct point to ignore her brother-in-law.
“I don’t know about all that,” Reit interjected, completely oblivious to the exchange. “A confident man wouldn’t have so many advisors, or constantly worry if one of his decisions might—”
“Dear?”
“Yes, love?”
“This is my story. Kindly butt out?”
Reit threw up his hands in mock surrender, much to everyone’s amusement.
“When I was fifteen,” she continued with a patient grin for her husband, “I came home for the summer to take a break from my studies at Bastion. It was the height of the political season, when dignitaries the world over would flock to Eastwind Delta, en route to Schel Veylin to audience with the Highest. Every year, my father would outfit one of his fishing trawlers for river travel, and ferry these dignitaries upstream to the Veylin highroad at the foot of the Icebreak Mountains.
“This particular summer, I was working on Father’s ferry when I happened upon a young man about my age. He was bound for Bayton, not Schel Veylin like the other nobles. That had me quite curious. He was darkly handsome, well built—much more appealing than I eventually found his gangly brother to be,” she said archly, pausing to cast Retzu, who had started snickering again, a withering look. This made Retzu only laugh the harder. Reit sat in silence, a small embarrassed smile stretching across his flushed face.
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