The Zi'veyn

by Kim Wedlock

  "How much further?" Aria grumbled, her sun-freckled face marred by an extensive pout as she dragged her feet and kicked up the sand in an effort to further express her boredom.

  Eyila smiled towards her apologetically - somehow she was able to tolerate their setting as well as the mood, and had yet to respond to Aria with anything less than a smile. "We're over half way there," she promised. "Three more days."

  "Three?!" Aria groaned and her footsteps suddenly became heavier - as did everyone else's.

  An hour later, at the top of a particularly large and disagreeable mountain of sand, Aria's footsteps faltered completely. Rathen stopped as she released a short gasp and turned to pick her up from the sands, but he found that she hadn't fallen. He frowned down at her, perplexed as she stood quite still, her legs stationary even in mid-stride. "Little one?" But his confusion as she squinted off into the distance ahead of them turned to concern, and his eyes raced after her gaze as a flicker of panic sent a heat through his stomach.

  It took him a long moment to actively notice the small, dark shapes that formed a line along the mid-morning horizon. They were too far away to identify, and though they didn't appear to be human, that did little to ease his mind. He knew what wandered the vast desert.

  "What are they?" Anthis asked warily as he and the others stopped beside them, having pulled his nose out from his papers to peer at the distraction and certainly the first thing to see in four days, but his voice was edged in the whisper of irritation that had lately become habit.

  "Oryx - what else?" She stopped and took a moment to survey the disparate land, then nodded to herself. "Two and a half days."

  "Those are oryx?" Petra asked with some relief. "They look like goats."

  "How can you possibly see them from here?"

  "Goats don't have five horns."

  "And how can you count their horns?!" Rathen shielded his eyes from the sun and squinted even harder.

  "You're just old, Daddy!" Aria giggled at his flat look, then grasped his hand and dragged him along as Eyila returned to pace and he grumbled bitterly beneath his breath.

  Petra frowned sideways at Anthis as he returned immediately to his work. She couldn't help marvelling at how he could follow the slippery descent all while filtering through loose parchments, some scribbled, some elegantly scrawled, and flick through the leaves of his notebook at the same time without once losing his original page, all while presumably making notes from the myriad of sources, connecting them with thoughts and ideas that would be beyond her and likely everyone else.

  "Are you getting anywhere?" She asked curiously at last. "You've been working on that for a week - at least I think it's been a week..."

  "Hm? Oh, yes. Uh..." he barely dragged his mind away. "Yes and no," he managed eventually. "Mostly it's just things the ditchlings thought were relevant. Pretty much anything they found related to magic, so a lot of it is just...rubbish..."

  Petra clicked her fingers to regain his attention. "It can't all be rubbish or you wouldn't be spending so much time on it."

  "Well it's better than looking at all this, isn't it?!" Petra turned him a flat, unimpressed stare and he looked away sheepishly. "Sorry." He didn't sound like he meant it. "I suppose you're right - I hope you're right. There has to be something useful in here. It's just a matter of sifting through and making sense of it all."

  "What have you made sense of so far?"

  "Not much. It's mostly just a list of frivolous achievements - floating cities, control over weather, reshaping the land and so on - and while it's almost certainly true, I don't see how it helps us."

  "All true?" Aria repeated excitedly. "A floating city? Really?"

  Despite his mood, Anthis couldn't help smiling at her enthusiasm, and he wondered for a moment at just where his own had gone. Of course, when his footing slipped and something sharp beneath his shirt poked into his skin, he was grimly reminded. His smile faded. "Yes," he sighed, "quite possibly, though whatever spell kept the city up has certainly broken down. If there was currently a city floating in the sky, we would know about it."

  "That we would." Petra's eyes shifted curiously onto Rathen. "What about you?"

  He glanced around at her and smiled humourlessly. "Don't ask."

  When they made their routine stop to avoid the midday heat, Petra watched Garon pitch his usual distance. He'd made no attempt to smooth things over during the last week, and neither had anyone but herself made any effort to forgive him, or at the very least to move past it. She supposed she understood on the grounds that they were in no situation that called for an authority figure - had they been in one of Turunda's cities, the matter would have been straightened out immediately. As it was, however, everyone was given far too great an opportunity to brood.

  It was about time it was brought to an end, and as no one else was inclined, it seemed that the efforts fell to her.

  She turned and headed purposefully towards Rathen as he set up his tent.

  "Why are you asking me?" He frowned. "He's the one keeping to himself."

  "Because we're not making him feel welcome."

  "He's not a child..."

  "You know what I mean. We're not exactly making ourselves approachable."

  Rathen sighed and thought for a moment as he pulled the canvas tighter despite the unstable foundation of pegs and poles, then he shook his head. "He's not the type," he decided. "He's keeping to himself because he wants to, and if that should change, he'll impose himself upon us whether we want him around or not. But as it stands, he has nothing to contribute right now. It's all on me and Anthis. Frankly I think we're better off without him dictating the lead right now - and," he added mildly, "a little bruising to his pride could do him some good."

  She frowned at him doubtfully, but found herself unable to argue.

  "Anyway," he turned back to his wobbly tent, "it's hardly up to me what the rest of you do. Go make him feel 'welcome' if you're worried about it."

  The air stalled around her as she looked hesitantly back towards the inquisitor.

  "I'm sure it will be more appreciated coming from you," he added quietly.

  Petra finally stepped away, having not heard his remark, and as he glanced around to watch her collect Garon's share of the food and deliver it to him, he immediately felt a pinch of regret. He didn't hear the words, but he didn't really need to. It went as expected: Petra had said something as she handed him the bowl of bread and cheese, but whatever polite greeting she had offered, he'd brushed her off and shooed her away, probably with little more than grunted thanks, if he'd even looked at her.

  Rathen shook his head and turned back to his tent as Petra returned to camp, her shoulders slumped and lips pursed in irritation, and pretended he hadn't noticed.

  As Eyila had promised, they were all gradually growing used to the unnatural pattern of the day, and midday sleep was becoming easier. That day, however, Aria had no intention of drifting off.

  She lay still on her blanket, breathing softly and calmly as though she was in a peaceful sleep while her father lay beside her. She listened carefully to his breath, noting how slow and deep it gradually became, and she paid close attention to his movements, his fidgeting giving way to stillness with the occasional jolt. And once she'd counted to one hundred, or there abouts, and he hadn't moved, she very slowly rose to her hands and knees, untied the tent and crawled outside, careful to keep any shafts of blistering sunlight from falling over him.

  Tying it shut behind her, she glanced about and grinned to herself in victory. There was no one outside. They were all shut away in their tents, and rightly so - it may not have been much, but the shade inside did make a difference, even if sleep was impossible.

  Keeping as quiet as she could, Aria shuffled through the hot sand towards one tent in particular, though more specifically to the bags dumped outside of it. The jug full of delicious water was hidden in the tent's shadow, kept as cool as it could be, and what additional supplies he'd been lumbered wit
h set beside it. But these were not what she was interested in. She crawled instead towards the worn leather satchel which was always slung over Anthis's shoulder, fit to burst with all kinds of exciting books and scrolls, all of which she knew were filled with pictures and stories of the fabled elves. Though her lips were dry and her stomach lurched eagerly at the thought of water, her attention was riveted upon the bag.

  She paused as she reached it, straining to listen carefully into the tent, but she heard nothing but soft, restful breathing.

  She grinned again and turned immediately towards the satchel. The countless old buckles keeping its contents from spilling out posed little hindrance for her quick fingers, and she was inside in a moment, pulling out papers and leather books in a bleak rainbow of dark colours. She stopped and glanced over each, but it was quickly apparent that none were what she sought, so she dumped them on the ground and continued her urgent rummage.

  A shadow fell over her.

  She gasped sharply and spun around on her knees, expecting to find either her father or Anthis looking down at her in anger.

  But instead it was Petra who frowned down at her, her arms folded across her chest and her eyebrow cocked disapprovingly.

  Aria hung her head in shame. "Damn."

  "What are you doing, Aria? You should be asleep."

  "It's impossible in this heat," she grumbled. "And I wanted to see the Arkhamas' notes and read about the floating city Anthis talked about, but it's not here." She looked back up at her pleadingly. "I know it was wrong, but please, please don't tell anyone."

  Petra breathed a laugh of pity and crouched down beside her. "I won't," she promised with a smile. "But we've better get this tidied up before anyone notices."

  Aria nodded vigorously and set to gathering up her mess, and though Petra was certain as she tucked it all away that there was a system to the chaos of Anthis's bags, she doubted she could work it out. He would know someone had been in there.

  But that concern was pushed aside when she took the next handful of loose pages and recognised the portraits printed upon them.

  "Uh oh," Aria gasped, and in that same instant the tent beside them flung open and Anthis came blustering outside, his eyes wide in a panic which swelled when he saw the papers in Petra's hands.

  "Anthis," she began as he froze, looking up inquisitively as she turned the parchments towards him, and while Aria's freckled cheeks had turned red with guilt, Anthis's had drained of colour, "why do you have bounty posters in your bag?"

  "Bounty posters? You mean 'wanted' posters? Of criminals?" Aria looked to him with more curiosity than Petra, who instead now regarded him with confusion.

  "Because," he replied quickly, though his eyes were still wide, "I like to know who to steer clear of. I mean, I find all kinds of relics in ruins, and if I'm approached by a collector, I'd like to know if he's a conman as soon as possible."

  Her puzzlement deepened as she began to look through them. "But this one is a murderer."

  "Also a very good detail to know."

  "Arenaria!"

  The girl froze at the sound of her father's furious voice.

  "Arenaria, what are you doing out here?"

  She turned and smiled up at him sheepishly, tucking her hands behind her back and looking as strikingly innocent as she could.

  "No," he said impatiently as she opened her mouth to make an excuse or present a distraction, but as he stopped and towered over her, he noticed Anthis's panicked expression, then Petra's suspicion, and his own disapproval gave way to equal puzzlement. "What's going on?"

  Petra showed him the posters. "It appears our dear renowned historian here is also a bounty hunter."

  "What?!" Anthis scoffed a little too readily. "Nonsense! I was just telling Petra that I like to know who to avoid in case--"

  "Not one of these bounties are for conmen!"

  "Is no one trying to sleep?" Eyila asked as she joined them, and even Garon began an approach, though he stopped a short distance away.

  "Why would he have bounty posters?" Rathen asked, turning the same uncertain suspicion onto him as she had.

  "What's a bounty hunter?" Eyila asked.

  "Someone who hunts down criminals and brings them in for a promised reward. Dead or alive, unless specified." Rathen raised an eyebrow. "Which I notice none of these are." He looked back to the young man. "Anthis, what do you do with these?"

  All eyes upon him were expectant and dubious, and, he noticed, Aria in particular seemed afraid of his answer. He breathed a laugh and smiled nervously. "I already told you."

  "Don't take us for fools, Anthis," Petra growled. "We have more respect for you than that, so show us the same in return. Do you collect on these bounties?"

  He looked again from one face to the next, then hung his head in defeat. 'Bounty hunter' was far from the worst conclusion they could draw. "Yes."

  "Why?" Rathen asked.

  "And how?!" Petra added incredulously.

  He looked at her unappreciatively. "I'm not as useless with a blade as you all seem to think."

  "Perhaps you're better at wielding it than carrying it," Rathen remarked drily. "But why do it?" He shook his head, but Anthis had the impression that his disapproval stemmed more from concern than the idea that he was a fool. Something about that made him uncomfortable. "Voluntarily going up against people like this is dangerous. That's why there are bounties! Because the guard can't handle it and the Hall is too busy! Why would you take that on yourself?"

  "Because I have to pay for my work somehow," he snarled indignantly, standing taller in a suddenly flaming defence. "The lodging, the supplies - I only get paid for my work upon stage completion, and if I've got a bad lead, that can take a very long time. What am I meant to do in the mean time?"

  "But you're rich!" Aria declared, and her young face was so twisted in disappointment that Anthis felt another abrupt surge of guilt. "We've seen your house! And you don't even live in it!"

  "You're going to get yourself killed by doing this, Anthis."

  "Rathen's right - I've seen most of these bounties, some are years old--"

  "I don't need your concern!"

  The desert fell silent.

  His jaw tightened, and though he lowered his voice, its sharpened edge remained. "I have been doing this for eight years, and I'm still here. I know what I'm doing, and what's more is that I need to do it, so I don't need any of you to tell me I'm going to get killed! I know the risks - I don't pick up every poster I see then choose a target, any target, and charge in blade-first!" He looked from one concerned and doubtful face to the next, then sighed in increasing fault. "I'm sorry," he said with a softer growl, and looked especially at Aria who appeared slightly heart-broken. "I do appreciate your concern, but I honestly don't need it. Though I suppose Stonton hasn't helped my position..."

  "It has not," Petra replied firmly. "You're clumsy, and I've been tempted countless times to take that knife away from you."

  "Then why haven't you?"

  She looked at him levelly. "I suppose I'd like to think that you wouldn't carry it if you didn't actually know how to wield it."

  "Well, I do," he assured her, "but magical wind can do funny things to people."

  "Stab them in the stomach, you mean?"

  "Exactly."

  Noticing he'd fallen quiet, Petra and Anthis looked expectantly towards Rathen, but instead of staring back with his usual and strangely paternal disapproval, they found both he and Eyila looking warily beyond the camp and towards the top of a nearby dune instead. Following their gaze, they watched as a dark form stumbled along its crest. Garon, too, had noticed it and even drawn his blade, though he hadn't moved to approach it.

  "What is that?" Petra asked, shielding her eyes from the light. "A person?"

  Eyila suddenly darted forwards.

  "Wait," Rathen called after her, "can't you feel--"

  "Of course I can feel it," she snapped back, "and something's wrong!" She was racing along the foot
of the dune when the solitary wanderer toppled from its edge and tumbled down its slope, carried faster by the avalanche of sand his disturbance had caused. He had no hope at all of regaining his footing.

  Rathen cursed and hurried along behind her, and the others quickly followed.

  "What is she doing?" Garon growled, suddenly alongside him, but the mage's concern stilled his response. The Inquisitor soon cursed just as Rathen had when he made out the stranger's attire, and though his footsteps faltered for a moment, some new urgency imposed itself and propelled him forwards.

  Eyila swept to a stop beside the collapsed figure and they could hear her frantically asking him if he was all right, but though he said something in response, his voice was too quiet, the man too weak for them to catch it. Despite exhaustion, he continued to drag himself along through the sand.

  "Get away from him!" Garon bellowed, but the tribal girl paid him no attention and tore her shoulder free when he tried to pull her back. Rathen similarly ignored him, but he at least slowed to approach the final few steps with caution.

  "He's a mage," Petra warned, seeing his inappropriate black cloak, and the stories from the wandering traders-who-weren't rose unbidden in each of their minds while Eyila continued to ask him questions.

  Something unsettling cast a shadow in Rathen's mind.

  He turned and grasped Aria's shoulders as she arrived, her eyes wide in curiosity as she tried to peer around him, but he turned her about and looked gravely to the duelist. "Take her," he said softly, "over there, just in case."

  Aria looked up and pursed her lips to protest.

  "No 'but's," he told his daughter just as she formed the word, and ushered her towards Petra who took her hand and lead her back a safe distance.