This brought his attention back to the pants he wore. “I am to be paraded around as an attraction again, then?”
“No, Klain. You should be dressed if you are to go out into the city, yes? This makes Humans feel… more comfortable—less likely to see you as an animal, yes? You will need to learn these things if you are to fit in, hmm?”
Klain snarled. “Why would I wish to fit in with Humans? They are vile little things.”
“Not all Humans are vile, Klain, yes? This you will come to learn in time. You will come to learn many things in time, yes? Did you know you are the only Kithian to be successfully raised in captivity, hmm?”
Klain bared his fangs. “Do you now wish to taunt me?” The words came out in a growl.
The Elmorr’Antien’s expression did not change. “Do not be angered by your past, Klain. Your past makes you who you are now, yes?” Sarshia said nothing more, as if waiting until Klain calmed a bit before she continued. “It is almost impossible to take a Kithian as a captive. The Slaver’s Order claims it is a waste of their funds. They never seek out your kind as their… product, yes?” Reaching over the arm of her chair, she retrieved a golden goblet from a side table and took a sip. “You see, if you take a Kithian captive, they will fight you relentlessly until they have no strength left with which to fight, yes? When their mind is broken, as all slaves’ minds are, they realize they cannot win through force, and they simply stop living, yes? They do not eat or sleep, instead wasting away to death.”
“What lies are these? I am not dead! I have been a slave, as you say, my entire life! Yet my mind is my own!” Klain growled.
“That is the trick, yes? To make a Kithian a slave, they must be taken very young. The age of eye opening happens to a Kith cub around two weeks after birth. If they can be taken prior to this time, as you were, there is a chance they will accept their captive surroundings, yes? Once the age of eye opening has passed… well, let us say this is why Kithians do not make good slaves, hmm?”
“So the stories told to me were true, my family was murdered?” A small piece of hope—the one that had nestled in the back of Klain’s skull for so long, the one he would pull out late in the eve—broke away and fell to the ground like a dead leaf in autumn.
“I am afraid they probably were. Nevertheless, Klain, it is those truths which give you your strength, yes? You are still very young—you have not yet reached your tenth winter, hmm? Still, you have an inner fire that burns brighter than most I have seen—it is so bright that your future is hidden from me by its radiance. This is why I purchased you and set you free, yes?” The Elmorr’Antien took another drink from her cup.
With her last words, fear crept back into Klain’s heart. He looked around the room seeing nothing in particular.
“I realize this will take some time for you to understand.” Sarshia words regained Klain’s attention. “We will take it slow, yes? For now, let us say that you are confined to my villa grounds, hmm?”
“So I am a captive!” Klain’s blood heated again, and he welcomed the familiar feeling.
“Once more, I will tell you that you are not a captive, yes? I am not your master and there are no guards. I will say to you, however, that you will not leave these grounds. Nor will you hurt anyone who is on this property.”
Her last words washed over Klain like a bucket of cold water—a sensation, once again akin to the first time he had met the Elmorr’Antien, spread through him. It filled his core, and confusion crept into his mind as his desire to fight or flee melted away. It lasted only a moment and Klain felt calm once more. Looking around the room, it seemed like any other cage or cell. Without thought, he reached down and picked up a piece of meat, shoving it into his mouth.
It is nice enough, yet I will not be broken by it. I will find my escape, eventually.
A breeze from the window washed over him, the smell of the sea heavy in it. The flavors in the wind varied—at once the rich texture of honey, next the putrid tang of something unwashed and unwanted.
He leaned out the window for a better look.
The side of a building dominated his view, separated from him by a narrow alley, litter lining the ground near its base some twenty paces below. He inched further over the sill and saw a bustling street where people traveled amidst the jumbled sounds of tinks and thuds.
“This is the only window in the school with any type of view of the surrounding city.” He heard himself say. His voice sounded a little deeper than it should be. “Not that I have time for sightseeing.” His voice told him this without him saying the words.
Something pulled him from the window, and the small room he found himself in looked to be some sort of library. Several plush chairs stood between the bookshelves lining each wall. “This is one of the rooms of study. I do not have any classes here, yet most Initiates know of this window, and I try to come here when I can.”
He felt himself sit down on one of the chairs. Alant Cor could feel the soft leather covering the armrest beneath his palm. When the room spun, a moment of uncertainty gripped him, and he struggled to understand how he could now be looking down at himself sitting on the plush chair.
Only, I am not Alant! He is my brother. I am Arderi Cor!
The realization tickled the back of his mind.
That is right! I am drawing upon the Memory Crystal from my brother!
“I wanted to let all of you know that I have been called to attend class for the next few turns of the seasons in Hath’oolan.” Alant spoke the words, yet Arderi still felt as if he was speaking them. This was made even stranger by the fact that, to Arderi, it felt as if he stood facing his brother who now sat before him in the chair. “This is the reason I was allowed to send you a second Silrith’tar—sorry, Memory Crystal. We are encouraged to call items and places by their proper, Old tongue names. Anyway, it is a great honor to be chosen. I am not sure I am up to it. As always, I will do my best. I hope to make you proud.”
“Ma, I know you will want to make the trip to Mocley and see me before I go. Alas, I am told that by the time this Silrith’tar reaches you, I should have already set sail for the isle of Elmorr’eth. I know this is longer than you hoped to have me away, yet I am learning much and excelling in my studies. I have already passed all of my classmates who started with me. I suppose this is why the Elmorians chose me.”
Gazing around the room at all of the books, Arderi felt a weird sense of pride and care for them as if he had actually held them, studied them. “I am really enjoying my studies.” Alant’s words began again, and once more Arderi felt as if he spoke the words. “The work is hard and they give us little time for anything else. It is great to succeed in something I failed at yesterday. I have always remembered your advice, Papa, ‘When you fail at something, it simply means you have not tried hard enough.’ I have kept that to heart.”
“Well, I hope everyone at home is doing fine. I am sure the rest will be drawing upon this also, so I will say a few words to them, I suppose.”
“Siln, I miss our games of—”
Arderi felt his throat tighten and the room jerked violently. If not for the fact that he had no control of his movements, he was sure he would have fallen. The bookshelves blurred and the whole room melted before his eyes. He gagged, tried to wretch, yet his body would not comply. Attempting to yell for help, to scream out with agony, he found his voice had failed him, causing fear to course through his veins. Then it was done. He found himself standing in a small room, bare of any furnishings save a small cot with a footlocker pushed against its end. The room was so tiny he could have reached out and touched either wall at the same time.
“Hello, brother.” Arderi heard himself address himself with Alant’s voice. “I have gotten a little wiser in the use of these Silrith’tars since my first. This part of the message you alone will be able to draw out.”
Arderi’s head spun. It took a moment
to realize he still drew upon the Crystal. He yearned to sit on the cot, to collect himself after what had happened. Again his body would not obey his commands.
Not that it is my body, it is Alant’s. I am still just a spectator.
“I wanted to let you know how much I believe in you. You cannot possibly hope to understand how wonderful shaping the Essence can be. However, you will know soon. If you have not already taken the Test, I know your sixteenth winter has passed, so it should not be long until you do. You have it in you, no matter if you believe it or not. I did not understand things when we lived together, yet, oh, brother, the things I have learned over these last two winters. The power the Essence lets you wield! I wish I could be here in Mocley to receive you when you come to the Chandril’elian. The Cor brothers!” He felt himself chuckle. “We shall be remembered in the history books, you and I.”
“I remember how much you wished to leave home. I still remember you clutching my arm and making me promise to come back for you once my training was complete. I did not have the knowledge to tell you then what I can now. Do not fear the Test! You have an inner strength exactly like mine. I have felt it. You shall be fine.”
“I cannot tell you how, brother, except we will be able to talk once you arrive at the Chandril’elian in Mocley. I will speak with you then.”
Reality spun again, though without the force that had yanked him into his own private message. Arderi found himself back in his own room, sitting cross-legged on his bed—the dim light of the yellow moon, Traynor, barely visible through his glazed window. He reached up and plucked the Crystal from his forehead. His queasy stomach twisted in upon itself, and his head ached as if someone had hit him. Arderi had drawn upon the last Crystal Alant had sent dozens of times without any bad reactions.
I do not think I will draw upon this one ever again!
When Clytus Rillion awoke, he had no idea how long he had slept while lying there holding his wife. Her head rested on his chest and her arms remained draped around him. Sensing that dawn would be upon the land soon, he extracted himself gently, leaving Lilaith asleep on their bed.
The house lay dark and quiet as he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. His stomach was so empty it felt as if a hole ran through him. To his ever-constant admiration, he found the cook—a plump, middle-aged woman by the name of Darma Di’Anty—busy kneading dough. “Do you ever sleep, woman?”
Darma looked up from her baking and smiled. “And a good morn to you, sir.” She transferred the dough she kneaded into a baking pan and slid it inside one of the ovens. “It seems some person entered my pantry late last eve.” She wiped her hands on her white apron.
“Aye, I was late in coming and needed to eat. I did not want to wake you for such a trivial matter.” Clytus opened the coldbox and retrieved a chilled pitcher of milk. He poured himself a goblet full.
Darma pointed to the large wooden box from which he had taken the pitcher. “The coldbox is not as cold as it once was. Need I remind you again to get a Shaper to come and re-Meld it?”
“Nix, woman!” Clytus had not meant to growl, and immediately regretted it. “Tell Ragnor of this later and he shall have it done.” Raising the mug to his lips, he took a swig. The chilled milk tasted good as it slipped down his throat.
“Ragnor? I thought you were heading out before the sun rose this morn.”
“Aye, I am. Alas, Ragnor will be staying behind this trip.” He slid his gaze across the kitchen looking for anything to fill his empty belly.
“By all Twelve Gods!” The terror in the cook’s voice made Clytus abandon his hunt for food. “Is he ill? Have you summoned a Shaper? Do you not have some Oolant drought to give him?” She made a bolt for the door.
Clytus snagged her arm as she passed to prevent her from leaving. “Darma, Ragnor is well.” He took her with both hands and shook her slightly when she tried to break free and continue on her way. “Ragnor is well!” He tried to sound reassuring.
“Yet he has never been away from your side. This trip will be one of the most dangerous you have ever been on. Should you not—”
Cutting her off, Clytus grabbed her attention with his eyes. “He will be staying behind to look after things for me. Things more precious to me than all else on this Plane.” When she made no further attempt to leave, he released her.
Darma turned and fiddled with some pans. Before she could hide her face, Clytus saw the tears welling in her eyes. “Fine then, go busy yourself elsewhere and I will have firstmeal ready soon.” Her words were almost as chilly as the milk in his mug. Almost.
Clytus did not begrudge her the cold shoulder and had no desire to watch her grieve. “Aye, I will go to the yard and ensure all is well for leaving. I shall be eating firstmeal on the road, however.” He left the kitchen.
When he arrived in the yard, as he had expected despite the early aurn, all was ready. Four traveling wagons, loaded to bursting with the supplies he had purchased over the past tenday, sat waiting. He would pick up the final two from the merchant, Grilmire, on the way out of the city. Wagon drivers milled about making last moment adjustments. Men checked the cargo straps, insuring nothing would shift during the journey.
“Morn, Master.” Ragnor’s deep voice called from the other side of the courtyard. Clytus noted that the man had braided his thick black hair into a ponytail as he did when they journeyed away from home. The leftenant headed over to meet Clytus.
Reaching for the leftenant’s outstretched hand, Clytus slid past the man’s guard, and embraced him. Ragnor returned the hug with a bemused chuckle. When he attempted to pull away, Clytus held him tight, mouth pressed to the black man’s ear. “You will not be going with me this time, Ragnor.” Trying to keep his voice in a low whisper, it came out more of a croak.
At this, Ragnor pushed away to arms length, yet kept his hands on his commander’s elbows. “I do no understand, Master. Be there something you do want me to see to first? Shall I catch you up later?”
“Nix, old friend. I want you here.” Clytus stared into the man’s chocolate eyes for a long moment. From his pocket, Clytus withdrew a piece of parchment—folded and sealed with his mark—and held it out to his leftenant. “You are a good man, Ragnor, and have been a better friend to me than any man could hope for. This letter grants you full power as regent over my lands and estates. My wish is for you to care for things until Sindian is of age. I hope you will serve him as you have me all these winters.”
Ragnor looked from the letter to his Master. “You Ro’Arithians and your Foretellings. I do think you have been with Felstar again, have you not?” A big grin parted his dark lips and he chuckled. “Master, the future has no been written. You speak as if you do know for a certainty that you will no return.”
At his friend’s mirth, a smile forced its way onto Clytus’ lips. “Mayhaps, my old friend. Alas, I want to be sure this time. I have things in my life now that matter more to me than my future, and I am leaving them all here. Besides, I have Alimia now to do my fighting for me. You know she has had an eye on your job for the last turn of the seasons.”
“That psychotic wench?” The leftenant snatched the folded parchment away from Clytus’ hand and shoved it into a side pocket as if it had no value. “No man do have the ability to keep up with her. She be more apt to kill the entire troop by driving them too hard. Still, she will keep you safe, while she do still hold breath, anyway.” The smile dropped from his mouth and he nodded gravely. Clytus had seen that look in his dark-brown eyes a hundred times prior—each time they entered a battle together. “I will do as you ask, Master, without hesitation nor complaint. That be something you should know by now.” Turning, the large black man headed back toward the wagons. After a few steps he stopped, glancing back. “Still, you will feel foolish when you do ride back through them gates in a few moons time. I will laugh at you then, just as I do now.” With a loud cackle, he turned and trotted off t
o help with preparations.
Clytus had to laugh as well.
Aye, old friend. Still, I must know everything at home is taken care of so I can bend my full attention to my task. And there is no man on this Plane I trust more than you!
Within moments, his warhorse, Starborn, was saddled and brought out. The drivers that had been milling about the courtyard making last moment preparations mounted up. He heard the soft patter of his wife’s bare feet wisp across the cobblestone courtyard. She glided up to him, and he leaned into her as she embraced him from behind. When she relaxed her hold, he turned and picked her up. Letting his mouth find hers, he held her tight, allowing their bodies and essence to mix. Breaking from her kiss, he set her down onto her feet. “You will tell Sindian I wished him well before I left?”
“Aye, Husband, although he knows.” She handed him a roll of warm bread and a small sack of dried meat. “He is near six now and smarter than most.” The resolve in her eyes told him all he needed to know. If I could make you promise to return, I would, her eyes said to him.
“All will be well.” Trying to make it sound like a promise, Clytus slipped from her grasp. Turning, he walked to Starborn and swung into the saddle. Once he sat astride the large brown destrier, his eyes wandered back to his wife. She still stood where he left her. The light from the torches burning in the yard played off her silk sleeping gown. She crossed the courtyard and held up her hand. Clytus reached down and she pressed a small wooden bauble into his palm.
“I know you do not follow the Twelve.” Her eyes shined with tears that he knew would not fall until he left. “I want you to wear this for me. It will make me happy.”
In the dim light, he could not make out which God the trinket represented. Looping the leather cord over his head, he let it dangle down onto his chest. “Goodbye, my love.”
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