The Zi'veyn

by Kim Wedlock

  He wasn't at all surprised that she'd asked the ditchlings for a branch from their forest. She was a sentimental girl, and though he deeply disapproved, the ditchlings seemed to have made an impression on her. But then, they were the closest thing to another child she'd ever met.

  Anthis watched him handle the wood with great care, trying to work out what it was himself. "What is it?" He asked eventually, and Rathen breathed a quiet laugh.

  "If I had to guess, I'd say it was a ghost."

  Anthis frowned and peered at it more closely. "Why a ghost?"

  He stroked the long, featureless edge that had been only partially freed from the rest of the wood. The carving was so smooth compared to the natural roughness of the branch that it seemed as if the tree had consumed the form in growth, and Aria had merely released it. "Just a guess."

  Anthis shrugged it off while Rathen rose and tucked the wood and knife back into her bag. "Where did she learn to whittle? She's remarkably skilled with the blade."

  "Kienza taught her."

  "Did you not object?"

  "Yes, but Kienza is a good teacher, and Aria's a good learner. She loves it, she says learning is like a collection you don't need to find a box for - I'm sure you've noticed her enthusiasm."

  Anthis smiled. "I have."

  Rathen sat back down beside him while a weary Garon returned from the river, but he didn't speak to either as he moved towards his bed roll and prepared himself for the night.

  "She's a...curious girl," he said quietly, the two ignoring the inquisitor just as he ignored them. "She's got such a hunger for everything around her all the time - it's like she's never been to a city before. Every time we stop she acts as though she's stepped into a new world. Even when it's the woods. She has such a zest for everything, even for a child. To be honest, I envy her. I don't think even I was that enthusiastic."

  A soft frown descended as another finger of guilt prodded at Rathen's heart. "It's because she hasn't."

  Anthis looked back to him expectantly. "Hasn't what?"

  "Been to any cities, seen many woods." He noticed Anthis's confusion. "We live an isolated life," he explained. "This is the first time she's ever been more than half a mile from home."

  "Well it's a dangerous world, especially now. There's nothing wrong with sticking to what you know is safe - it's responsible parenting."

  Rathen twitched and mumbled: "I'm not so sure I'm a responsible parent."

  "Sorry?"

  "I said," he replied, speaking up, "it's nothing to do with being a responsible parent. She's only ever met a handful of people. To be honest, I'm surprised she's not more intimidated."

  "A handful of people? You mean formally?"

  He shook his head, wondering why he suddenly felt the need to speak of it. But among everything else that plagued him lately, regret had also been shadowing him for exactly this reason. She was so excited, so happy - even when she'd been frightened or unsettled, her fascination with each situation had stood right alongside her trepidation. But he'd kept her locked up, concealing the world from her, telling himself all the while that she knew no different so it wouldn't matter, that she couldn't miss what she never had. But now he was realising just what he'd hidden from her, and it wasn't just the sight of horizons, hills and properly-constructed buildings.

  But it also couldn't have been helped. He was banished, and there was no one else to care for her. She had little choice but to share in his sentence.

  He looked thoughtfully back to Anthis. "I think you're good for her."

  His eyebrows rose in surprise at the statement, but more so at the implication of a compliment. "In what way?"

  "Encouraging her curiosity, helping her understand the world around her. Garon doesn't seem to have much tact with that side of things, and sometimes I think I'm too out of touch to be of much use, either."

  "Oh, well, thank you," he smiled proudly. "I'm glad to be of help."

  They both threw a glance over their shoulders as a slight giggle came from Aria's direction, but she didn't make another peep as she lay bundled beneath the blankets, lost in whatever amusing dream she was having this time.

  Rathen smiled and shook his head, while Anthis turned his eyes upon him in consideration. "Can I ask you a question?"

  He looked back to him dubiously, but found he was too curious to say 'no', and even as he cast over him another evaluating gaze, his decision was made on impulse rather than calculation. "Go ahead."

  Anthis paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, and Rathen found himself already regretting it. "You haven't been as closed off since we left the roads," he said slowly. "Even when we encountered the ditchlings, you were less...uneasy than each time we've been in any cities or villages. Why is that?"

  Rathen, too, hesitated before speaking. "I said we live an isolated life," he replied finally, though his careful thought remained in his tone, "but that's not necessarily through choice..."

  Anthis searched his eyes by the firelight as he paused again, trying to read beneath his vagueness before Rathen could continue. They were hard-edged, as usual, but over the past two weeks, he'd come to see a kindness within them. It wasn't one put on display for anyone to see, in fact more often than not his eyes were bitter, acrid, or perhaps even violent, but even when he was scrutinising a detail or claiming, less than delicately, that faith was a waste of time, it was always there, just beneath the surface. A detail one wouldn't notice without getting to know at least a little of his true nature that lay beneath his bitter husk which, Anthis suspected, could only have been born of something tragic.

  Rathen's eyes soon dropped back to the weakening flames that crackled and danced before them, either having decided that he didn't want to continue, or that he needn't bother since Anthis was working it out for himself. But as the historian continued trying to read him, suggestions began forming in his mind, and he found himself suddenly quite uncomfortable about having posed the question at all. And yet, even as those suggestions both grew and shrank by likelihood, he was just as uncomfortable with letting it lie.

  "You were banished for something, weren't you?" He asked plainly, though uncertainly, and when Rathen barely reacted, he knew he'd come to the wrong conclusion. Until Rathen nodded.

  His eyes widened. It took a long moment for the fact to sink in, but as he continued to analyse his unaffected expression, again his eyes narrowed in doubt. He threw a speculative glance towards Garon, who lay with his back turned to them, and considered him for a moment. This was an official investigation and so his presence was required, but he had noticed more than a few times that Garon kept a closer eye on Rathen than he did on him, and while he had initially taken it as the same distrust most held for mages, now he wasn't so sure. If Rathen had been banished, nothing less than an inquisitor could take custody of him. But why would he seek the help of a banished mage rather than turn to the Order? Was this threat of a rebellion truly that serious?

  He looked back to him steadily. "Why? What did you do?"

  The mage's knotted brow tightened further in thought, and though he parted his lips to speak, something held his tongue.

  "You were a soldier, you said - sahrot?" He pressed. "Did something go wrong? Did you disobey orders? Because, forgive me, but from what I've seen of you I can't believe for a moment that whatever you would have done was without good reason."

  Again, the flash of Rathen's dark eyes froze his blood. They turned upon him so sharply it was as though he'd intentionally said something to wound him, despite the confusion they were met with. He shrank even further as the mage rose to his feet, and a storm engulfed him as he made for his bed roll, snarling beneath his breath even as he blocked out the world and everyone in it. "You know nothing about me."

  "Rathen, I'm sorry," he said quickly, silently scolding himself for being so invasive, but the mage ignored him. He threw his shirt aside, blinding him as moonlight glinted from a band about his arm, snatched his blanket over himself and lay with his back
turned to stare off into the endless black of the forest.

  The camp fell still. Anthis's shoulders slumped in defeat, and the voice in his mind kicked off and berated him once again. The man's past was absolutely none of his business, but he just couldn't ignore his own curiosity, and the one time his walls had finally come down, he'd managed to insult him. But how could he ignore his curiosity after what he'd seen in Rathen's eyes? He stood by what he'd said: whatever Rathen had done, banishment had been an unfair punishment, either unjust or entirely undeserved. A man truly guilty of treason or insubordination wouldn't be quick to leave their home and protect their country after betraying it once already, and yet here was Rathen, uncomfortable, daunted, and carrying a task he clearly didn't want, all while being pushed on by his own conviction. And though Anthis's imagination still stampeded away from him, he just couldn't ignore the value of the man's spirit. It was too clear in his eyes.

  A soft hoot ruffled the stillness, drawing him out his thoughts and back to the cold, surrounding night, and he realised he was the last one up. Out of nowhere, fatigue fell upon him like a mail blanket. With a sigh of defeat, he rose, kicked out the fire and prepared himself for bed, seeing little reason to remain.

  He was painfully aware of every sound he made in the enveloping silence, as every step and every rustle seemed to be returned and repeated by the towering trees. Neither Aria nor Garon snored, and Rathen was surely still awake, though both pretended otherwise, so as he loosened his belt and the two blades hidden beneath his shirt, he made sure to keep the two apart and at least avoid the clatter of their hilts.

  Stuffing his clothes into the bag he'd set beside his blankets, he silently slipped one dagger down the side, hidden from anyone rifling through. He moved to conceal the second within his clothes, but as its half-foot steel edge caught the moonlight from between breaks in the cloud, a troubled frown descended.

  He looked closely at the three cut glass crystals embedded in its arabesque hilt, and though two were clear enough to reveal the steel settings beneath them, the third, sitting just above the tang of the blade, had more than just discoloured. It had turned a deathly black.

  His heart jumped and his eyes tore quickly to the second, peering closely into its depths, straining through the cold, weak light, and he gradually noticed the slightest clouding within that one, too, spreading like a pestilence.

  A fire sparked in his stomach. It was three days too soon, but now he'd seen it, he was sure he could feel the crystals' corruption spreading within himself as well. It was all in his head, he was sure; two had to turn black before he would feel anything, but evidently the quality of his last contribution hadn't been what he'd thought.

  With a deep breath, he steadied himself and put the blade away within the folds of his clothes, pushing the thought aside. It didn't really matter; his luck was on balance. With the military moving off and roads reopening behind them, they'd be in Mokhan in just three more days, and then he could solve his predicament before it became an issue. There were papers enough in his saddle bag, and in a city so big, he was sure to find something.

  He sighed wearily as he finally lay down and pulled the blanket over him, making himself as comfortable as he could on the uneven ground, and let his tired mind wander until he slipped into dream.

  He had risen cautiously the following morning, still weighted by multiple concerns despite his restful sleep, but, to both his surprise and relief, Rathen had been strangely neutral, as though their altercation hadn't happened. He said not a word about it, offering no explanation for his turn - though Anthis decided that such would be unusual behaviour for him anyway - and Anthis similarly chose not to address it despite his usual curiosity and the overwhelming need to apologise again.

  Instead, everyone's attention had turned towards their purpose in Mokhan and the opportunity to finally begin the search for the relic. But while over the following days Rathen had grown restless beneath his urgency to deal with the situation after Kienza had well and truly thrown the door open on it, as they drew closer to the city, Anthis became increasingly irritable. It had started with a few sharply answered questions, then during the second day he'd barely spoken at all as they rode, and by the time they'd stopped to make camp for the night, he'd closed himself off completely. Aria was hurt the most by the change, and while Rathen had initially put it down to impatient excitement, he soon thought he saw a touch of fret in his young brow. Perhaps he was feeling the pressure, concerned he couldn't deliver. He could certainly appreciate that sentiment, but the historian's mood and doubt only served to add more weight to his heart.

  On the final night they set camp only an hour or so away from the city, choosing to stop and rest before heading in on the morning when they'd have all the daylight they'd need, and it was a decision Rathen had been grateful for. Despite his priorities, he still wasn't inclined to spend another night in the city if he didn't need to. Anthis had said - back when he was still speaking - that it wouldn't be a matter of finding what he needed within just an hour or so of searching, so they may end up having to find an inn for the night. The idea of such a long search had weakened Rathen's resolve, but instead of giving in to it, he reminded himself that Anthis had been there before. Surely that meant he at least had some idea of where not to look.

  So, as Garon read a book by firelight and Anthis stormed off into the darkness to 'clear his head', Rathen lay on his bed roll with Aria huddled and snoozing beside him, her toy cans-and-string tangled between them, making the most of his last night of comparative ease. He stared at the familiar stars and absently pondered on the coming events, wondering how he could help the search, as he was quite confident that he would only be in the way and quite probably standing right in front of exactly what was needed. That in turn fed into the wonder at whether he would even understand anything they might find. Would he recognise the significance of a rune if he saw it, or would it just be a marking on a sheet of parchment? He didn't much like the idea of embarrassing himself - assuming they found anything to present such an opportunity.

  But didn't let himself entertain that concern for long. He would advise where he could, using the limited knowledge he had, and hope that it was enough. After all, Garon had decided to approach him rather than a scholar, so Rathen's shortcomings would rest equally upon his shoulders.

  That, at least, helped him sleep.

  Chapter 13

  Rathen awoke on that final morning to the smell of frying bread and gentle, off-key humming. He'd thought at first, in the slipping grasp of sleep, that it was the song of a rather ambitious bird, but as the familiarity of the tune began to settle, a slow smile crept across his face. It took him a long, sluggish moment to notice anything amiss about it - he'd not yet found the bearings to recall where he was nor even to think to open his eyes - but before his tranquil mind could place it, a lighter voice interrupted and repeated the tune quite correctly.

  Memory returned, his brow knotted, and he opened his eyes, quickly shielding his sight from the bright, low sun with a curse. Surely Aria wasn't teaching her goat song to Garon.

  No, indeed she wasn't. At that very moment the inquisitor stepped into view with waterskins in his arms, presumably freshly-filled from the nearby stream. Instead it was Anthis who prepared the food that morning, with Aria's own brand of help, and he who was being tutored in the fine art of serenading livestock. He was clearly in much better spirits that morning. Perhaps his impatience had been replaced by excitement now that the wait to reach Mokhan was almost over.

  They ate shortly after Rathen rose and, as usual, didn't linger before setting off, but despite the warm, spring light they'd woken to, a thick sheet of cloud rolled in to smother the sky not five minutes later. It wasn't even mid-morning by the time the tall, twisting elven towers appeared over the top of a hill, but one could be forgiven for thinking it was almost evening. But, as miserable as the weather was, it would at least mean fewer eyes to glimpse their arrival.

  Aria stared in
wonder at the bewitching towers as they descended towards the city, keeping to what cover they could as they made their way towards the back gates and the infernal district beyond them. They dismounted at the edge of a copse of trees and crept to hide behind an outcrop of rock, but as they peered around to assess the guard, they were surprised to find only two figures standing at either side of the ancient, golden framework.

  "We need to get rid of them," Garon whispered needlessly, turning to Rathen. "Can you cast something to distract them?"

  "Of course," he replied easily, but as he raised his hands to begin forming quick seals, an idea already in mind, Garon grasped his wrist and gave him a wary look.

  "Make sure it doesn't seem like magic. We don't want to encourage their superstition."

  Rathen's lip curled in distaste as his hand was released. "Stupid superstition." His fingers twisted, crossed and intertwined faster than Anthis could follow them, and all but Rathen jumped as a dog suddenly barked from close by.

  The animal appeared from around a corner of the wall, heading away from the bustling main city and straight towards the two inattentive guards. Neither of them paid it much heed, even as it stopped right in front of them and continued its fervent barking, casting insistent glances back the way it had come as it did so.

  It wasn't that either were particularly dedicated to their job of guarding the empty district - it seemed to be a rather novicial assignment - but rather that they enjoyed the ease of having so little to do and dozing, even so early, against the city's wall. Apparently not even the dog's clear alarm could interfere with that. And so, it was only when it finally charged forwards and grasped one of them by the trouser leg that they reacted.

  At first the guard simply tried to shake it off, but as the dog continued tugging, the other spoke up from beside him. What was said, they didn't catch, but after the brief exchange the first guard's shoulders dropped and he reluctantly began to follow the distressed dog away, leaving the other to return to his dozing.