by Kim Wedlock
"But the artefacts?" Garon asked, making his way over.
"Hmm? Oh, yes. The first two are absolutely certain: one for the humans, one for the elves. As for the gods, I can't tell." He appeared in the doorway and presented a leather bound journal whose pages went from water stained to utterly ruined. "I can't make out any more to it." He sighed mournfully at the illegible pages. "What a waste."
"What have you actually found?" Rathen asked him more directly, and though the young man's lip curled, Rathen was unsure whether he had in fact sneered.
"I've barely broken the surface, but - and I hesitate to say it," though he didn't hesitate to grin, "it looks like we've hit the jackpot."
"Elaborate."
"These papers aren't just speculation on the artefact or vague references - I admit they do provide an awful lot of opinions, but they're also filled to the brim with technical notes and details..." He seemed fit to burst with his excitement, and tapped frantically at the paper as if his words alone couldn't possibly relay the importance of what he'd found. Nevertheless, he certainly had their attention. "This is--" he quickly put everything down and presented the ruined book alone, "this one, this is the journal of one 'Drekath'. He talks a lot about the Zikrahlehveyn as a grave weapon against elven kind, alongside disapproval and speculations for its purpose - conspiracy theories, perhaps, but it looks like this guy was in the know. Everything I've read so far has been backed up by details that only someone connected could know."
"If he was 'connected', why was he guessing?"
"Because it seems he was kept just enough in the dark - but it says that the qu'ulas - the king - hired someone to create the weapon as a show of power over the other elven lords in order to keep himself at the top, as far as I can see. But Drekath here seems to believe that the qu'ulas had the intention of actually using it rather than just throwing it around as a threat. And I'm sure all of this was more than just discontent - I think he was close to the qu'ulas himself, because he speaks of the weapon regretfully, as if he had the opportunity to step in and stop its creation somehow, or destroy it or run off with it once it was finished, but something stayed his hand - some greater obligation, or perhaps a precarious one."
"Fascinating," Garon said impatiently. "And how does this help us?"
"It doesn't really, but this might." He flicked forwards a number of pages then showed his frowning audience a few smudged and stained illustrations.
None of them were sure what they were looking at. It seemed at first glance to be an arrangement of triangles and thorns, but the longer they looked, the slightly more sense it made. Eventually they deciphered a rendering of an upside-down pyramid with barbs protruding midway along each of the four edges, hooking downwards towards a jagged-cut tip, while its broad top surface was crowned with larger, double-ended thorns arching into the centre, pointing towards what appeared, perhaps, to be a lotus flower. The drawings were precise - no doubt marked by magic - and depicted its unsurprising gold and black colouring perfectly. It even shimmered in the light.
"Now," Anthis beamed, "we know what it looks like."
"That's the 'zikanilvain'?" Aria gasped. "It's beautiful..." But she didn't smile. In fact she seemed disappointed, but as her task had been to create a vessel for the spell her father was to make, she almost certainly felt that her efforts were beyond 'inadequate'.
"Very nice," Garon said blandly, far less impressed, "but do we know where it is?"
"At this point, no, but these," he swapped the journal for a series of smaller notebooks, "are even better."
"Better than the Zi'veyn's location?" Petra asked, but the persistence of enthusiasm in Anthis's eyes calmed her scepticism.
"Yes. These are research and creation notes - research and creation of the Zi'veyn itself."
All of a sudden, they shared his enthusiasm.
"The spell--"
"Yes," he grinned, even towards Rathen, "the spell included."
But despite this promising turn, Petra couldn't help a dubious frown. "Anthis, those papers are the most ruined thing you've brought out of there...how much of it can you actually read?"
And now Anthis's slipped, and every expectant gaze grew irritated. "Enough," he replied, straightening under their scrutiny. "Honestly, we will get something from this. And if Drekath was close to the qu'ulas, this journal might just hold the artefact's resting place. I just need to read through it. It wouldn't have been left here if it didn't contain something important..." He watched the exchange of doubtful looks and stared back at them all imploringly. "Trust me, please. Give it a chance. None of you expected to find anything here, and it's the best lead we've ever had."
Reluctantly, Garon sighed in concedence. "It is, isn't it?" He managed to keep his hand from rising to the scroll of paper concealed in his breast pocket.
He puffed again and considered the historian, then the others, one by one. He paused for a moment to think, then his eyes fell finally upon Eyila. "We'll stay here tonight. It will be cooler than the desert. In the morning we'll start back towards the tribe and return our guide, but in the mean time, Anthis, you read as much as you can and find us a new direction. Otherwise we stick to the plan of heading to Enhala. You've got a week."
Anthis nodded vigorously. "Yes, good, I can do that. I can do that."
"You seem in a hurry to leave," Eyila observed. "Does that mean you have what you need? That you can restore this place?"
"We're a step closer."
"We're more than 'a step closer'," Anthis assured her ardently, overriding Garon's tact, but he shrank when he caught his disapproving stare.
Garon dismissed him and turned to Rathen. "Are you done here?"
The mage's face twisted uncertainly. "I think so..." he looked quickly to Eyila, "though if we're staying the night, I'd like to work on this magic a little more - if you wouldn't mind helping me?"
The tribal girl smiled, earning him another subtle yet malicious sneer from Anthis. "I'd be happy to. But," she looked more firmly towards Garon, "if you intend for us to spend the night here, you must all show Ut'hala respect. This place does not belong to you, and neither does it belong to me. Aya'u inherited it from the elven gods, and it in turn fell into my people's care - I expect you to treat it as you would your own place of worship."
Aria frowned up at her father. "How is that?"
"Like you do the garden," he replied quietly, and as a keen understanding dawned, Aria turned back to Eyila and gave her the sincerest smile of promise.
Anthis quickly vanished back into the small, flooded room, and though it couldn't have been later than four in the afternoon, the perpetual darkness encouraged the laying of their bed rolls. Aria took to hers an hour later despite food being heated over a careful flame.
Petra kept an eye on her as she tended it, but in the stillness, her gaze was repeatedly snatched by the inquisitor as he paced monotonously along the water's edge. She ignored him for the most part, but when he caught her attention for the sixteenth time, she grumbled, rose to her feet and made her way towards him. Her footfalls were quiet, but she knew he was aware of her. He was always aware.
"If you keep this up you'll need new boots in about twenty minutes."
He paused and frowned around at her as she gave him an impish smile, but he didn't spare her long. He didn't even roll his eyes as he looked away.
Her smile softened thoughtfully, and she cocked her head as she considered him. "Why don't you sit down? There's nothing to keep watch from in here - as relentless as the harpies are, none of them are going to swim to get to us, and I doubt any tribes would, either." She leaned around in an attempt to catch his eye. "We're safe here, believe it or not. The safest we've been for a while..."
"Unless something chooses this night to take refuge here."
She smiled laboriously. "What are the odds of that?"
"It doesn't matter what the odds are, it's a possibility."
She studied him for another long moment, ignoring the usual flatn
ess of his responses, and a thought slowly drew her dark eyebrows together. "Garon, you know, if this is about everything before, we don't truly blame--"
"This isn't about anything but safety."
Her tongue was stilled by the sharp gaze he suddenly turned upon her.
"This place is riddled with magic. Who knows what could be drawn here? Not one of us is familiar with this ruin - but if you're tired of keeping watch, then stop. No one asked you to do it - no one even asked you to be here."
A flame sparked to life in her eyes, burning back into him with the strength of his own. "What is the matter with you?!" She snapped, keeping her voice to a low hiss despite the fact that the chamber was so quiet even the slightest whisper could be clearly heard. "Why are you always so dead set on being alone? On being the 'strong man' who protects everyone at his own expense? What good are you to anyone when you refuse to rest?!" He looked away from her in disregard, but that only stoked her rage and she took a frustrated step closer. "As you yourself said: not one of us is familiar with this place. So what are you going to do if something does happen and you're too exhausted to see it before it's upon us? Too weak, even, to act?! You are a fool, Garon! Do you know that?"
"And what rest do you get?" He snapped back with far less care of being overheard. "You're standing over my shoulder every time I look around!"
"Because I'm watching over you!" Her lips abruptly pursed and smouldering eyes closed, as if another mind had taken over, and her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Forget it." She turned away, waving her hand in dismissal. "Watch the shadows by yourself. Just be sure you stay awake all night long so you can raise the alarm if a fish comes too close to the surface."
"What's all the shouting for?" Aria yawned, sitting up among her blankets and silencing Garon's retort, and Petra smiled apologetically as she returned to the little girl's side, offering her quiet words of reassurance.
Rathen glared across at him as the inquisitor folded his arms and turned his back to her, and Eyila looked between the two with a sad frown. Neither of them missed the fact that he'd turned so absolutely that he couldn't look back around even if he'd wanted to, though whether because he was angry or simply stubborn, not even Rathen could tell.
"Odd pairing," Eyila mused. Rathen couldn't help a smile.
A few hours later, Petra, too, had taken to her bed roll. Eyila followed once she'd finished meditating, though she couldn't possibly have found even a lick of wind in the drowned ruin, leaving only Rathen, Garon and Anthis awake. The former had retired from his work on the magic and sat with his notebook in the firelight, scribbling manically before his thoughts could escape him, while Anthis sat on the furthest side of the fire and ate his portion of the food which had long grown cold, three books and a scroll laid open around him.
As the others slept soundly, Garon chose that rare moment to address an urgent matter with the only two he had ever intended to be a part of his expedition.
They were both so engrossed that they didn't notice him step into the weak firelight, and jumped when he spoke, though they were given no chance to curse in surprise. The severity of concern in his eyes was impossible to miss. Even his superiority had diminished in its shadow. "We need to talk."
The two exchanged worried glances as he turned and walked away, set their books down despite their pressing desire to continue their work, and followed silently, trying to ignore the dubious air they felt themselves stepping into.
He led them to the edge of the fire's reach - just far enough, Rathen noticed, that they wouldn't wake the others if they spoke in only slightly hushed tones - and when he turned back towards them, his ominous expression had grown worse. Anthis stalled when it turned directly upon him.
"How much have we found here?" He asked abruptly. "No promises, no under-estimates - your best assessment."
His green eyes widened. "I really can't say just yet - certainly a lot, our best discovery yet, but how far it will carry us, I don't know..."
"Try."
He swallowed. "Based on what I've read, the fact that this information has clearly been intentionally scattered, and what could realistically be contained in the work books of this single cache under those circumstances, I think there's a fair possibility that we could find the Zi'veyn itself sooner rather than later - perhaps just two or three more stops, if the information hasn't been encrypted prior to being hidden. Failing that, there's also a fair possibility that it could contain something to help Rathen's work. I was going to start translating the creation notes and research once we set out."
"'Fair'," Garon repeated, but Anthis seemed disinclined to pin his name to any further guessing. He nodded slowly. "Well, it looks like all of this will be put to more use than we thought. The Order has acted."
"...Acted?" Anthis frowned.
"I received word from my superior a few days ago. The military wing has been on the march with the army, but a week ago a number of martial mages attacked the soldiers from within."
"What?!" Anthis barely managed to choke his outburst into a strained whisper.
"Could they not have been infiltrators?" Rathen asked urgently. "Skilan's mages?"
"If so then there's an even greater issue at hand. Sivaan Rosh himself was involved."
Rathen's expression dropped as his pallor whitened. "No. No. Absolutely not. Sivaan Rosh--"
"I know what you're going to say, Rathen, and I'm inclined to believe you. There's no evidence as yet that the Order is truly rebelling beyond these chaotic attacks. But now that one has occurred within the military and taken out a number of soldiers en route to a large-scale confrontation, intentional or not, it has turned Turunda upside down. To everyone out there, it looks very much like betrayal."
"Whatever it is, it's related to this magic," Rathen declared desperately, "it has to be! We all saw that mage out there, it's nothing natural and nothing intentional! We need to find this thing!"
"Yes, we do," Garon agreed calmly, "and urgently, but not just because of this meddling magic."
The mage looked back at him with almost painful caution as he searched his face for meaning, but Anthis was quicker to catch on.
"You want to use it on the Order."
"I have no intention of doing any such thing," the inquisitor replied before Rathen could unleash his response. "Even if this was an uprising, not all mages are involved, and if the Order is disarmed then all of Turunda will be left at risk of magical attack - and that is far harder to defend against by normal means than standard warfare. Unfortunately, not all are prepared to consider that detail." He looked at them both steadily. "What do you know of the Arana?"
Anthis's dubious expression broke into a smile. "The Arana?" He scoffed. "Ghosts?" But beneath the weight of Garon's stare, his laugh weakened very quickly and his smile promptly vanished. His eyes flicked to Rathen, and his suddenly severe expression created only greater foreboding. "I thought--"
"They're no urban myth. Now listen carefully because this is serious. The Arana is a faction of uniquely skilled individuals, many of whom have learned to suppress their minds and emotions so that they can complete their tasks without hesitation, and can seamlessly switch identities to suit whatever situation they're in. They have no families, no identity of their own, and they are untraceable by all but by their own - your 'ghosts'. These operatives are responsible for infiltration, intelligence-gathering, interference, assassination - anything the Crown needs done that it would rather wasn't known to the public, and while many stories you've heard are no doubt false, their nature is not.
"But they only act in the country's interest. They receive their orders from the Crown after deliberation between the king and his highest advisors, including the military general and sivaan, and only when no other course of action can be taken are those orders handed to a liaison for delivery."
Anthis merely stared at him.
"The liaison has a lot of power and it's true that there is room there for corruption, but the present has held the pos
ition for nearly forty years and isn't considered compromised. He isn't who we have to worry about, but the leader of the Arana itself - their 'keliceran'."
"Salus."
Anthis's stunned expression hadn't changed, but Garon's eyebrows twitched upwards in surprise.
"I have my sources," Rathen explained grimly.
"Don't you just. Then you'll also know what he's like."
"Vaguely: devoted."
"'Devoted' is certainly a polite way of putting it. 'Obsessive' would be another." They both wished they hadn't noticed the unsettled shadow in Garon's eyes. "He will do anything he can to protect the country; nothing is 'too far'. And with the recent activity of mages over the borders, even prior to anything occurring within Turunda, it seems he has been hunting for the Zi'veyn in order to use it against the Order before they could become a threat. Few trust magic as it is - imagine what a man prepared to go to these lengths must think of it. We need to get to it first."
"You make it sound like he's just going to happen upon it," Anthis observed carefully.
"The keliceran has access to a diverse variety of 'resources' and the means to 'encourage' them to co-operate. The Arana could get ahead of us with the right help in no time."
But Rathen shook his head as another doubt, one apparently more rational, settled upon him. "King Thunan wouldn't approve this kind of thing."
"No, he wouldn't. Unfortunately, we have reason to suspect that he's acting on his own. The liaison himself has suspicions, and there are a few Aranan agents on his side who feel the same. They raised the matter to him, and he to us."
"So what's being done about him?" Anthis asked.
Garon hesitated. "Nothing. He's wily, tactful and unpredictable, but the country is too unstable for a key authority to be turned upside down. And the Arana is too valuable to stall its operations."
"Even if it's being led by a man like that?!"
"You don't know the half of it." Rathen's eyes darkened. "Garon's leaving out one big detail: Salus was a portian."