by Matthew Wolf
“How did you…” Tugan managed.
Meira regained control. “I do not know how you found out, or why you think you are entitled to join us but…”
“Let me amend my previous statement,” Dagon said with utter calm. “I will join you. You have no choice. You four are powerful and skilled, but you are lacking in one area, and it will be your downfall.”
“And that would be?” Finn asked, looking skeptical but curious.
“Authority,” Dagon replied, “someone who can make this absurd scheme become a reality.”
Meira hesitated. She opened her mouth but Tugan interrupted. “He’s right,” said Tugan then looked to her. “Look, I know you do not trust easily, Meira, but as I see it, this makes sense.”
“We need no one,” she said firmly.
“Be reasonable, Meira,” Hutosh said. “To have a four-stripe Reaver on our side in this fool’s errand would be a great boon.”
She looked to each, then to her dear friend. “Finn?”
Finn shrugged. “I don’t know, Meira…”
Something felt wrong… She wanted to speak, but as she eyed their faces and saw their expressions shift, she noticed they now looked hopeful. And she realized, guiltily, that Finn had only been doing it for her. She could not have that—she needed their wills as well, or she would be no better than Sithel.
Hutosh chimed in again. “Besides, who would question us with Dagon at our side? He can lead us.”
“I will lead,” she said stubbornly, anger seeping into her voice.
Dagon answered, “And your plan?”
Meira sniffed. “You think I trust you so soon?” she asked. “What’s to stop me from tying you up or burning you to a crisp right now? Who is to say you are truly on our side? Say what you will, but I find it hard to trust an entrance like that. What are you really after?” she asked Dagon.
“I came alone, did I not?”
She growled, unable to answer for that. “So? Perhaps only to root out more traitors against Sithel…”
“You want the truth?”
She met his gray gaze unwaveringly. “I do.”
“Then Compel me,” he said. “I saw your threads. Compel me and see the truth for yourself.”
Meira began to thread the ancient spell.
“Meira! Is this really necessary?” Tugan asked, grabbing her arm, but it was too late. The spell took form in the air, a complex tapestry of glowing threads of flesh and bits of Sun, so intricate and layered that the finely meshed lines seemed to blur into one thick cord. It floated and sunk into Dagon.
Dagon gasped and fell to his knees, words flowing forth as his body trembled: “Ezrah was so kind, so thoughtful. Always watching out for me when the other Neophytes would tease me relentlessly. They were jealous, I knew. But it didn’t help. I hated them. But then he came. Ezrah. An Arbiter. He, unlike lesser wielders of the spark, knew what power meant. And now I have betrayed him. I must seek justice. I must save him…. These fools… They must see reason… Perhaps… Compelling—it is the only way.” The four-stripe Reaver continued to shake, but no more words came, and Meira let the threads dissolve wordlessly. Dagon controlled his breathing and slowly rose, his expression turning resolute and grim. “As I said, I have nothing to hide. I will save Ezrah. But I cannot do it alone.”
It’s the truth… “So be it,” Meira replied, and reluctantly, she described her plan. They each nodded, though some slower than others.
“A simple but wise course to our destination, but what then?” Dagon asked.
“Bloodshed,” she answered. There was no other answer now. Each looked uncertain and conflicted, but not wholly opposed. To kill another Reaver was akin to killing one’s family, but it had to be done.
“Perhaps it may come to that,” Dagon said, “but if I can suggest another route? I will not join to kill those who resist Sithel’s cause. There are others like us, whether you believe it or not…” Meira didn’t like where this was going, but she nodded for him to continue. “If you have not forgotten, I am in charge of compiling the roster for the next shifts.”
“And what good will that do us?” Finn asked, shuffling closer to Meira.
Her eyes narrowed, seeing the plan churning in Dagon’s gray eyes, and she spoke, “You plan to fix the roster, don’t you? To make a full eight who are loyal to our cause and to Ezrah?”
Dagon nodded. “Like you, I do not trust many others, but together surely we can think of others who will aid our cause. We can do this without killing, Meira.”
“No,” she said adamantly. “Eight is far too many. I will not allow it.”
“Eight out of nearly three hundred Reavers? Do you truly think it’s gotten that bad?” he asked, almost saddened.
Meira didn’t waver. “Yes.”
“You must have more faith, Meira. Or have you forgotten that these are our brothers and sisters? Besides what use is saving one man if all of the Citadel is a lost cause as you seem to believe?”
“Because it is right,” she said simply. “And because he is more than just one man.”
“Dagon has a point, Meira, you must admit,” Finn said.
Meira clenched her eyes, seeking stillness, but it would not come. “You all seem to think the Citadel is worth saving, but you must see its darkness as well. It is everywhere. Who can we ask? It was like pulling teeth to gather three I could trust,” she said passionately. “One wrong person will spell our death.”
“Then let us play this out…” Dagon posed, “What are the odds that we can even take those in the room? I am four-stripe, but there are several other four-stripes in Sithel’s clutches. What if Guran is there? He is stronger than all of you combined. And even if we do succeed in slaughtering our brothers and sisters, what then? A clash like that will be felt by any nearby, and it will lead to our discovery and our demise. It’s the same with every ‘so called’ traitor. One use of their spark in resistance, and no matter the size of their power they are never heard of again. Sithel finds them and quells their rebellion.”
“He kills them,” Meira contested. “There’s no need to pretend or mince fancy words about it, Dagon, not anymore.”
“We do not know that yet,” Dagon said quietly. “But you are right. Even one is too many. That is why I am here, why we must do something, and why we must gather eight loyal Reavers.”
“Loyal to who?” she questioned. “To Sithel? To you?”
“I am not the enemy, Meira!” Dagon shouted in anger. “Don’t you see? You must trust again,” and his voice grew soft, almost despairing, “or Sithel will have already won.”
His words ran through her, shaking her certainty. Was he right? Was her distrust blinding her?
Hutosh sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Sorry, Meira, but I’m with Dagon on this. I refuse to believe we are the only ones with a conscience. And I will not do this without him. Light, I will be a blasted fool to do it with him! But at least I might be a living fool.”
“Enough caring about your own hide all the time,” Finn said to Hutosh. He looked to Meira and clasped a hand on top of hers. “We’re behind you, savii,” he said fondly, using the nickname he hadn’t used since they were Neophytes—in Yorin it meant fierce, “but let us try Dagon’s tactic. It seems the safest path.”
She released a sigh. She did not want to see others die, but she feared that the time for avoiding bloodshed had passed. “So be it,” she declared. “Then we will go as a new shift, preparing to take over for the previous and free Ezrah from his bonds. Then we will make our move, and use my route of escape to escort Ezrah out of the Citadel and to a safe house I have secured.”
“A wise choice,” said the four-stripe Reaver, looking relieved. “But there is one last thing.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“We must be quick. Time is shorter than you think. I fear if we do not succeed tonight then Sithel will either have his information or have Ezrah’s death. The Arbiter is stronger than any man I’v
e ever met, but he will break, and soon…”
“Tonight then,” she agreed.
The others looked fearful, as if hoping it would be at some later date, but each nodded in turn, and Dagon spoke, “Then it is time I leave to prepare the next shift and ensure our places on the roster. Who shall I seek to fill the last spots?”
Quickly they discussed the other likely candidates for their mission and came to a unanimous decision on the final three.
Now decided, the four men looked dutiful and strong—as if their guilt had been shed and their minds cleared. It was the first time in what felt like ages that Meira looked upon the faces of true Reavers. Power, confidence, and virtue. It filled her with pride, and even if they were just a small ray of light in an otherwise dark abyss, at least there was hope.
She spoke powerfully, “Go now and prepare yourselves—steel your hearts and minds, for tonight may be our last, but if so, we will act as Reavers and see it through to the very end.”
A Fellowship
GRAY STOOD FROZEN AT A FOUR-WAY corridor as crowds moved around them like a river parting around rocks.
They were deep in the Citadel now, having wormed their way through hundreds of courtyards, rooms, and hallways—each more magnificent than the last, displaying the true might and grandeur of the city of fire. Twice they had passed through a grand chamber swarming with Reavers, but with Zane and Victasys at his side, he strode with the confidence of a Devari, and so far, none dared question them. As a rule, Gray avoided Devari as best he could, using the ki to sense them before they approached.
Yet now, they were stuck. Ahead were three different hallways looking exactly the same. Two odd stone pillars sat in the center of the room. If he had his power, he could search down one of the paths, but the nexus still flickered, missing a portion.
“What’s wrong?” Victasys asked.
“My…” he began, then stopped and settled on a simpler explanation, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this far.” Where are you? He questioned of Kirin. His old self had aided him thus far, but now Kirin was strangely silent. “I’m lost. I’m sorry,” he said at last.
“You’ve done a good job so far,” Victasys said. “No one is blaming you, boy.”
Yet I am blaming me, Gray thought.
So am I. You’re fairly worthless without me, Kirin voiced suddenly.
Where have you been? Gray asked in frustration. Tell me where to go.
What do you mean? Kirin asked, amused. You’re already here… See with your mind, not your eyes.
What is that supposed to mean? But Kirin was silent once more.
More Reavers and Neophytes swarmed around them, and Gray felt anxious standing in one place too long. With my mind… Kirin’s words nagged. Gray reached for the nexus. The swirling ball of air sat, waiting. Again, it flickered, wanting to slip from his grip like a freshly caught sunfish from Cloudfell Lake, but he gripped it tighter and then—
A sunfish? Cloudfell Lake? He didn’t know what either of those were… He had a vague image of a grand body of water and a strange and slimy fish that was yellow and spear-shaped, but these were not Gray’s memories. Were Kirin’s memories becoming his? He shook his head and focused. Faint, trembling power filled him as he surveyed the room again and nearly gasped.
In the center of the chamber sat a huge white swirling void.
“What is it?” Zane asked.
“A door,” he whispered.
“Where?” Victasys asked.
“In the center of the room,” he replied. “Between the two stone pillars…”
“He has gone mad,” Zane said, scratching his head.
“No, it can only be seen with magic,” Gray said.
Victasys grunted. “I believe it is called a portal. It makes sense that the Vault is restricted by use of a portal. They are often used as a means of protection, for many items of power are said to exist below the keep.”
Zane started forward. “Then what are we waiting for?”
“Hold on, how do we know if we can even get in?” Gray asked. “It is magic.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Zane answered, walking towards it.
The air shifted, the white-door pulsing. “Wait,” he said, gripping Zane’s arm.
Zane’s fiery copper eyes narrowed. “It’s opening.”
“You see it too?” he asked incredulous.
The fiery man simply nodded.
The spark… Gray had seen fire conjured in Maris’ Luck, but he hadn’t known it was Zane’s doing. Perhaps he was another Untamed? If so, it was a boon, but something about it seemed odd. Before he could question it anymore, the white portal swirled and a gap appeared, and two Reavers in scarlet robes stepped out into the hallway.
At the same time, commotion rifled through the crowds. Men and women parted as six Reavers appeared from the eastern hall, commanding all attention. They made their way through the people as if parting grass, heads high and eyes forward with purpose.
“What’s going on?” Zane asked Victasys.
The Devari shook his head. “I’m not sure…”
The group of Reavers met the first two at the swirling white door and exchanged brief looks, their faces grim, then entered. It was all over before Gray could speak.
Zane started forward and Gray followed. Zane did something, and the portal swirled open, widening like clouds parting to reveal what lay beyond—a hallway of white marble. Gray touched the portal and shivered unexpectedly, feeling wet, as if coated in water. He held his breath and stepped through.
On the other side, he saw Zane and Victasys looking to their clothes as if expecting them to be drenched. “This place…” Zane growled. “I will be glad to be out of it.”
Their surroundings looked the same, save for a shimmering and ever present white light. The hallway ahead split into three paths.
“Where to now?” he asked.
“Well, where did they go?” Zane questioned.
Gray reached out to his nexus. The flickering ball of air came forth, barely. He reached out with it, sending tremulous threads of air down each path, not seeing but feeling what lay beyond. Down the middle path, something in the air lingered. He grabbed it, cupping it as if with both hands, then pulled it towards him. It was the smell of clean sweat, and freshly washed clothes, and he even smelled what he thought was a hint of fear—but he figured that was just his imagination.
Gray started down the middle path, the others following.
“You’ve remembered?” Zane asked.
“No, but one path is as good as another,” he replied.
As they walked, Victasys spoke calmly, “You’re lying.”
How did he…? My ki, he realized. He winced. He couldn’t lie near a Devari. He had nearly forgotten. In the future, he would have to remember that. “I can smell them,” he admitted. “The other Reavers.”
“Really?” Zane asked. “That’s hard to believe. I have a great sense of smell, and I sense nothing.”
“It’s my power,” he explained. “It’s not easy, but I can catch their scent in the air and grapple it towards me.”
“Wind…” the Devari breathed.
Zane looked equally stunned. “What are you?”
“A better question, what are you both?” Victasys said.
Zane shrugged in his dark rags. “I wish I knew. All I know is I cannot wield my power without need.”
“An Untamed then,” the Devari said and looked to Gray. “And you?”
“I…” Gray hesitated, feeling as if he were exposing a raw wound with his next words. “I can do small things with wind, but my power is limited now. I am not whole. We cannot rely on it.”
Victasys merely nodded. Inside his hood, he knew the Devari’s scarred face was expressionless. Had the man smiled once since they met? Yet he was glad to have him. The Devari was truly in his element as they moved down the airy hallways, reminding him of a stalking wolf.
Gray rounded a corner and heard sudden voices.
“We are all here then. Are you all prepared?” A woman voiced.
Zane reached into his jacket and pulled out a mirror, angling it to see around the corner. Gray huddled closer and took in the curious scene.
In a circular room, eight Reavers stood in a ring addressing a smaller woman. He couldn’t make out her features, but she seemed powerful.
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” said another Reaver.
“There is a complication, Meira,” said a darker, powerful voice— a tall man with raven hair and dark skin.
“What is it?” Meira asked.
“I could not stop Sithel from setting up guards at Ezrah’s chambers.”
Gray gripped Victasys arm, and the three exchanged looks. Ezrah.
The woman cursed. “How many guards?”
“Only two,” the tall man said. “But I cannot be certain if they are with us or against us.”
“Then we must assume they are against us. Is that all?” Meira asked.
Another Reaver spoke, “We must be careful of Jian as well. A Devari told me he is looking for you, Meira.”
“Who’s Jian?” Gray asked in a faint whisper.
“The new leader of the Devari. A man to be feared,” Victasys said in an equally low breath.
Back in the circular room, the woman Reaver spoke again, “It is time,” she said grandly, “Follow me.” With that, she turned and left.
“What should we do now?” Zane asked.
“We follow,” Gray stated and rose quietly.
With care, they moved through chambers and more hallways, watching the eight Reavers in the distance. Occasionally, he glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw his companions’ grim-set faces. Wherever they were going was dangerous—the very air trembled with power, and Gray expected the walls to crack and crumble from it.
Suddenly, muted voices sounded from around the bend and Gray saw barred rooms ahead. Swallowing nervously, they continued, but he kept his grip on Morrowil. The eight Reavers disappeared ahead. With the others at his side, they neared and saw men and women huddled in the shadows of murky cells. Most didn’t spare them a look, as if their wills were already broken, but several eyed Gray and his companions with strange looks. Victasys pulled down his hood, peering into the dank darkness.