The Zi'veyn: The Devoted Trilogy, Book One

by Kim Wedlock

  "And you seem to forget," she added, a touch calmer, already smothering the fire, "that I can look after myself. I've saved your arse twice already. Without me, you'd be worse off than a dead arm."

  "It's not dead," he murmured.

  "Well, it doesn't work properly, at any rate." An uncomfortable furrow disrupted the frustration in her brow as he continued to stare at her, his eyes coloured in growing bewilderment as though he'd only now truly seen her for the first time. But though her lips began to form a question, it didn't make it out.

  "Why did you save me?" He asked her, softly despite his scowl.

  "Because you'd have obviously been killed otherwise..."

  "That's not what I mean. Why did you save me? You weren't with us the first time. In Carenna. You could have avoided it, you could have seen what was happening and gotten out clean. You didn't have to get involved."

  "I was heading to the gate to join you - of course I didn't know you were actually planning to leave without me. And I didn't know what was happening, I just saw that you were being attacked and were clearly outmatched, so when I saw a chance while...Rathen was distracted, I took it."

  "And I lured him far from the camp the second time. Out of earshot. None of you should have noticed..."

  Though her lips parted again, this time it was her own voice that stalled her. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, her eyes darted away, but she shifted her weight and sighed in boredom in a bid to conceal it. But her facade instantly crumbled, unable to convince even herself.

  She frowned quizzically as Garon took a tentative step towards her, but her eyes simultaneously livened with a nervous curiosity. She resisted shifting backwards under his intense gaze, lost and confused, baffled...and yet fully comprehending. Her folded arms slipped back to her sides, watching the heated perplexity double in his eyes as he stepped closer still, moving slowly, uncertainly, his confliction clear in every line on his face. But he didn't stop, and his stare didn't break.

  Without thought, he leaned towards her. His heart raced, encouraged by the mixture of spices and rosehip, the red scent - her scent. He felt the heat of her breath as her lips parted in wonder, luring him closer...

  They pressed against his an age before he was prepared. His heart erupted, and again his blundering thoughts were erased, emptying his mind to the sensations. A warmth he'd never truly felt; a scent he'd never breathed more hungrily.

  But her pressure was softer than he'd expected. Her fire burned as it always did - he could almost feel its heat, hear its crackle - but only now did he discover the glass that lay above it. Encased, it flickered hot and fierce, close enough to sear him yet completely guarded. But that guard was fragile; it would take little to shatter and release her fury, and just as little to release her passion. And passion - volatile, benevolent, terrible and genuine - was woven into her every action, her every decision - her every reason.

  How, he wondered, could he ever have been so blind?

  Because he had never been looking for it.

  He felt her fingers brush his skin, tracing the back of his hand. He turned his wrist to grasp them, but his hold was weak; his fingers refused to curl. In that moment he resented his injury more fiercely than he had anything else. Until she grasped his instead.

  "What?!"

  The sudden shout tore them away from each other as though lightning had struck between them, igniting a panic in their chests that burned away their fixation and reimposed their vigilance. Their hands immediately shot to their sword hilts while a haste burned beneath their feet, carrying them, alarmed and sheepish, back around to the grove it had risen from.

  "Learn from it?!"

  They came to a sharp stop, their dread twisting into confusion. Eyila still sat silently against the wall, her bronze face, paint disrupted by the damp air, contorted in an effort to keep her eyes shut tight and maintain her meditation, but of course it was impossible while the harshly-cut voice of an elf raged at Anthis, who stared back at him with similarly fevered disbelief.

  "All you're doing by recording your mistakes is teaching your children that life goes on!" The elf continued with rigid confidence. "That it doesn't matter if they do something horrendous because time and life will continue regardless! That there are no long-term repercussions, they can just do as they wish!"

  "Nonsense!" Anthis bellowed back. "These mistakes haven't been repeated! Our children learn of them, they hear the awful things that came from it all and they don't make the same mistakes!"

  "No, they make new ones from the same desires! But such thoughts wouldn't even occur to them if there was nothing to plant the ideas! We manage to live peacefully, after all!"

  Petra and Garon slowly lowered their swords, watching the exchange in bafflement.

  "Oh, certainly," Anthis drawled, "in ignorance. But when one of you does get such an idea, there'll be nothing to discourage you! There are no past lessons to teach you right from wrong, only what your parents have told you about playing nice with the other children!" The elf opened his tightly-pursed mouth to retort, but Anthis wasn't finished. "There's nothing here for anyone to learn from! You can't be so short-sighted to think that dark ideas will only occur to people if something else plants the idea! You all think for yourselves, you're not...bees! Dark ideas are inevitable; they'll occur to someone, be it through hurt, hatred or the desire to be 'more', and when they do, there will be no records of your ancestors' mistakes to discourage anyone driven enough to strive for them! Or to discourage anyone else from agreeing with them and egging them along! That is how you repeat mistakes! History serves a purpose!"

  There was such a seething electricity as the two stared daggers at one another that it seemed lightning might actually appear. Petra and Garon looked on in restrained caution, their swords half-raised despite knowing what little use they would be if the elf chose to turn to his magic to win the futile argument - but for the moment, he didn't move aside from the rise and fall of his elegantly embroidered shoulders with every smouldering breath. His skin had turned to shimmering rose, and his lips were pursed so very tightly that the pressure building up behind them might lead him to explode. Anthis, meanwhile, simply stared back in challenge.

  In the tense silence, even Eyila opened one eye in suspense.

  Then, the elf's lip curled, he snarled what was certainly a curse, spun around and stormed off, never once even grazing the others with his unnecessarily proud eyes.

  "And will someone please bring us our belongings from the boat?!"

  A joint breath was released once he was out of sight. "Helping relations?" Garon asked drily as he sheathed his sword and Anthis continued to leer into the trees where the elf had vanished.

  "Unbelievable," he growled. "Arrogant little..." he strangled the air after him.

  "After everything you've told us about elves, you're actually surprised?"

  "Actually, yes." He gestured sharply towards the wall. "They don't record their history."

  "We're not here on a study expedition."

  "No, you misunderstand," he scurried towards them, stifling his voice though it was no less squeezed by incredulity. "They have no records of any of it. We're not going to get a thing out of these people! They can't even tell me why they're here other than out of 'faith and veneration' for Zikhon, and that's all these bloody carvings dictate, too! They can't tell me what happened seven hundred years ago, they can't tell me where more of their people are, they can't--"

  "They're living in seclusion," Garon reminded him slowly, "perhaps they just don't know."

  But he shook his head adamantly. "Oh no. They would know. It's like the Arishan War. It's not something they'd forget. They would all have been affected - why else would we not have seen a single elf in seven hundred years?! Someone's gone through a lot of trouble to hide it all away!"

  "Why does any of this matter?" Petra sighed.

  "Because the Zi--" he caught himself quickly while the rest glanced about in caution. "'It' revolves around the
fact. It's a pivotal component to the end of their history, of that I'm certain - but if these people have no records of any of it, it could mean that 'it' has been destroyed as a final measure! Think about it! Why else would information have been scattered like this?! The renegades didn't want it all lost!"

  "You're jumping to--"

  "I really cannot believe their arrogance!" Anthis hissed on, spinning away from them and stomping into a pace. "Imbeciles! They're just as snobbish as they've always been, it's just a different shape - they might not be above touching things now, but rather than indulgent and superior, they're over-pious and far too assured of themselves! And they really believe that hiding from their past will avoid a repeat of their culture's degradation and whatever it resulted in! But it won't! They're too naturally curious - and some of them must be asking questions, otherwise that fool wouldn't have been able to give me such an assured excuse--which, I might add, they've no doubt been fed in place of any actual answers. It's ridiculous! I doubt any single one of them alive even knows why it's all so forbidden! They're hiding in shame, but the shame isn't even theirs! It's ridiculous!" He stared at Garon, then Petra, and even down to Eyila in exasperation, as if hoping one of them might be able to explain it and set his utter lack of comprehension into order. But they could only look back in their own confusion, wondering, above all else, why it really mattered.

  His eyes suddenly flashed again. "And--"

  "Then how can it be that we do live peacefully, and have yet to repeat any of our ancestors' apparent mistakes?"

  Blood ran cold at the interruption of another harsh voice. All four spun around, wide-eyed and guilt-ridden, to face the old elf who had entered the grove silently from behind them. His black-blue hair was arranged in a far less elaborate manner than most of the others they'd seen, favouring loose what others had worn in thick braids and braided again, and though his robes made up for that modesty in grandeur, his aged pastel eyes were lively and curious rather than lofty and dismissive.

  But, still in the throes of furious conviction, Anthis's shock was quick to pass. "Because," he replied hotly, "I'd wager you've already made your greatest mistake. Why else would your people have suddenly vanished from across the world and left your cities and valuables to the hands of your lowly servants? Why else would you few regress to short post-magic times, to faith and simplicity? Why else would you have hidden all mention of it, even from your own kind, and been so convinced that just hearing about it could be so provocative that some might try to do it again, regardless of the outcome?"

  Silent voices begged his tongue to cramp while tense, watchful eyes shifted onto the elf, who simply cocked his head and puckered his pale lips in thought. "My ancestors were undeniably ashamed of their people's actions, that much is true," he answered mildly, "so they concealed it, hid the fact away, ignored and denied it, and enforced a return to simpler times, placing a taboo upon the past." He left the shadow of the trees and began a slow and leisurely approach, prompting Garon to swiftly redraw his sword. But he paid no attention, and continued his considered response. "They wished for us to look forwards, only ever forwards, and to live peacefully in contemplation, to consider and accept the nature of eternity and fragility rather than striving for physical pleasures - the results of which, you see around you."

  Anthis's eyes, surprised for a moment, narrowed suspiciously. "Yes, you're all so very enlightened. Aside from the conceit and irresponsibility."

  "Anthis--"

  He raised his hand, silencing the inquisitor's warning, and further fixated upon the impassive elf. "You even admit that your people have turned their backs on their history, as if you think that by ignoring it, it'll just go away. But it's not that easy to sever the ties to what you once were - you might be able to 'live peacefully in contemplation', but you've retained your misguided superiority, just as you retain responsibility for your ancestor's actions."

  "Anthis--"

  This time it was the elf's hand to interrupt. "You speak as if you have an inkling of what my ancestors did. I realise a great deal of our past has been chased down by a handful of your own kind - you, it would seem, number among them - but I can see a glimmer of cluelessness within the rage of your eyes. You have little idea, and no facts at all." He cocked his head thoughtfully again. "But regardless, what difference would it make if we faced the past and admitted responsibility? We cannot reverse it."

  "You don't have to reverse it, you just have to know how to prevent it from happening again!"

  The elf did not reply. He simply stared at Anthis for a long moment while the others watched with bated breath and rigid muscles, tight and ready to respond with a second's notice. But the elf's eyes were neither troubled nor malicious. They were studious.

  They each jolted in surprise when he suddenly grinned, pronouncing the deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, and chuckled joyfully while Anthis glared back with even greater suspicion. "How marvellous!" He chimed, his grin widening as he hastened towards him, and grasped his hand before anyone's ready muscles could react, shaking it quite vigorously. "How marvellous indeed! My name is Eizariin - I'm sorry for my challenge, it was purely academic, I truly didn't intend to antagonise!"

  "Academic?" The severity on Anthis's face waned in bafflement while Eizariin peered apologetically around at the others, and he quickly spun back, no less lively.

  "Yes, I'm sorry - I can't help being curious. Not all of us are as unlearned as the majority would like to think, and that curiosity has gotten me into trouble all my life - but I've always felt it was worth it." He squinted with a shrewd smile. "I'm sure you can appreciate that." He abruptly released his tight hold on Anthis's hand before he could reply and hurried back towards the trees, leaving the others increasingly bemused while a small if dubious smile began to creep across the historian's face. The elf shortly returned with a basket. "I've brought you food--"

  "At last!" Petra dashed away from Garon's side, caution a distant memory, and snatched the basket with little more than a fleeting glance of thanks.

  "Yes, I thought as much," he chuckled, his black eyebrows rising. "I apologise for my people's 'hospitality'. You're the first guests we've had in...well, ever, I suppose. To say we're 'out of practise' would be an understatement."

  "You're not a servant," Anthis surmised as he approached a little more carefully, though his intrigue had softened his caution, and he observed the intricacies of his richly embroidered robes with as much courtesy as his fascination would allow.

  "Hmm? No, of course not. There are no 'servants' here, we're all Zikhoruikanax's devoted. But I thought you had probably been neglected and, I admit, I was quite curious about you - especially after seeing the ruffled manner in which some of the others left this grove..." His smile widened in amusement for a moment, but it didn't return to its usual state. Instead, it shrank, and his eyes dulled soberly. "But I don't share in their disapproval, unlike the others who 'hide from the past', as you so rightly put it. And I don't believe that Zikhoruikanax shares in it, either. He represents acceptance, not only peace and eternal rest, and if we cannot accept our past, how can we rest easily in the future?"

  Anthis nodded slowly, his green eyes narrowing in slow, daring thought. He felt his stomach rumble, and though his gaze shifted momentarily towards the basket through which Petra rummaged, Garon stepped warily and, no doubt, hungrily towards and Eyila, too, turned her yearning eyes, he looked shortly back to the elf in absolute decision. "Eizariin," he began with excessive politeness, his eyes suddenly alight with a dangerous intrigue that verged on distraction, though one Garon was fortunately too preoccupied to notice, "I have spent my whole life learning about your people from fragments of books, scrolls and ruins, collecting half-broken and indecipherable memories, accounts and legends. Never have I thought that such an encounter with one of your kind would be possible." He placed his hand over his heart and bowed an inch in supplication. "I would be beyond honoured if you would share some of your knowledge with me."
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  The old elf hesitated for not even a heartbeat before his eyes brightened, touched by the same enthusiasm and the same devilish defiance. "I'd be happy to," he replied, glancing furtively towards the surrounding trees, "if I can be afforded the same honour."

  Anthis's impish grin widened as he extended his hand in agreement. Eizariin shook it, short and eager, and quickly followed the young historian to the other end of the wall, out of earshot while the rest busied themselves with food, and with a clear view of potential eavesdroppers.

  Chapter 57

  The office was far too small for such a swollen silence. The immense pressure threatened to shatter the windows, and thickened the air in the meantime to the point of rooting in place everyone unfortunate enough to fall within its reach. Of course, few allowed their discomfort to show. Teagan stood, apparently composed, beside the desk in anticipation of the fast-approaching fallout, his hands clasped dispassionately behind his back while Salus sat slumped with his head in his palms, staring through the surface of his desk and the parchment cast askew upon it. Taliel stood just as motionless before him. It was the young boy beside her, surely no older than twelve, who was doing his best to keep his knees from knocking.

  It took a long while before Taliel finally disrupted the atmosphere's rigid hold by quickly and quietly ushering the petrified phaeacian back out of the office. She was sure she heard the poor boy gasp for breath as he stepped outside into the vast and freeing corridors, but she spared him little pity, holding him firmly to blame for the bad news he'd delivered and whatever backlash was about to come from it.

  The latch clicked shut, easing from her chest the slightest sigh of relief, and she turned purposefully back to the others, who had ignored the fuss, before the oppressive silence could ensnare her again. "Yoran survived in Fendale," she stated, clearly and calmly, "and Elisabet and Moroes will already be feeling through Orton. This is nothing we haven't handled before."