by K R Schultz
“You best go slow, young’un,” Isil cautioned.
“It won’t take much strength or energy to wrap the grips.” Laakea rose from the table, lifted the lid of a trunk near the kitchen, and rummaged through it. “See, here are the strips. I can start right now.” Laakea brought the rawhide strips to the table and got a bowl from the kitchen. “Isil, can you get water to soak this leather? I will wet it and wrap it around the hilts, and when it shrinks, it will tighten on the grips.”
When Isil left to fetch the water, Rehaak lingered near the boy, disposed of the breakfast leftovers, scant as they were after Laakea finished eating, and began washing the dishes. He worked in silence, periodically looking at Laakea over his shoulder.
He watched as Laakea unwrapped the swords, unable to resist staring at them. The boy caressed the blades carefully to avoid cutting himself again, admiring the craftsmanship they embodied.
“Rehaak, can you go to the village soon? I will need broad leather straps for the breastplate. Father and I made hundreds of buckles I can use. I just need leather straps.”
“I shall leave first thing tomorrow morning to see the tanner. You shall have the finest and strongest leather he can supply.”
The day slipped away, and work kept them busy. By nightfall, Laakea had wrapped the swords’ grips with rawhide.
The next morning, Isil, Laakea, and Rehaak arose at sunrise. At breakfast, Laakea looked as fit as he ever had. He tried to ask Rehaak about the next step in his quest for the Aetheriad, but Rehaak avoided answering his questions. Laakea gave up and went out to the forge to find buckles for his breastplate, while Rehaak gathered his things for the trip to the village.
“You best not lollygag,” Isil chided.
“I shall hurry as if my life depends on it…because it does.” Rehaak left the house and closed the door behind him. “Farewell, friends,” he whispered.
Laakea and Isil are precious to me, and the only way to protect my foolish friends is to leave them behind. This quest has already cost everyone too much. I can save them only if I abandon them. Their lives are too precious to waste.
Rehaak strode away from the house and smithy, his heart brittle as a shard of stone in his chest. The powerful bonds that bound him to Isil and Laakea waged silent warfare with his resolve to abandon them. Although his feet still led him away, his heart always lured him back to his friends.
Rehaak struggled to keep his emotions at bay as the distance between him and Laakea’s house increased. It is better to leave now. Fate constructs the twists and turns of my life, and circumstances beyond my control force me to take paths I would otherwise avoid.
Rehaak vacillated, his mind in utter turmoil, while he made and unmade his decision to abandon his friends. Rehaak couldn’t decide which was more critical—Isil and Laakea’s friendship or their safety. He couldn’t think of another way to protect them, aside from abandonment. Perhaps I will get the leather from the village; maybe not. I have all day to decide whether to return. He followed the trail to the Dun Dale road. For most of its length, it ran beside a stream. Mist curled along its banks. Rehaak was so busy with his thoughts; he did not notice the shadowy shapes watching him from the forest’s edge.
CHAPTER TEN
Simea’s Friends
As Simea waited to meet his friends in the predawn darkness, dew clung to the shrubs around the meditation garden. Water gurgled over decorative rocks and splashed into the pool at the fountain’s base. Sim warded off the dampness and the chill of the stone bench with the hem of his coat, closed his eyes, and replayed his conversation with Eideron. I wish I could express myself better, but Eideron makes me nervous. I’m such a coward.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel pathway leading to the fountain. Nailah’s and Pippali’s voices heralded their presence. Their arrival interrupted Simea’s bout of self-deprecation. “Hey, Sim, did you hear about the raid on The Greenhouse last night?” Pippali grabbed Simea’s arm, and his words came out in a rush.
“No, I didn’t, what happened?”
“Members of Virtue raided the place and tried to shut down The Greenhouse for the third time this season.”
“Harmless fun is one thing those idiots from Virtue can’t stand. Were you there when it happened and why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Nailah crossed her arms and tapped her foot on the ground.
Pippali waved away her objection. “I had just arrived when they burst in and headed for the bar, which is always their prime target. I guess they think nobody will hang out there if they can’t drink and dance. Virtue protests everything offensive to them, but they are so easily offended. I assigned an acronym to them. I call them C.A.V.E. people.”
“What does that mean?” Simea asked.
Pip smirked, “Citizens Against Virtually Everything.” Pip spread his arms and grimaced like a comedian who sought applause. “I have a million jokes, and I’ll be here all week. Please hold your applause until the end.”
“Hilarious.” Simea’s face displayed no amusement despite his words. “Was anyone hurt?”
“I saw them burst through the door, so I avoided them, but I imagine some of the dancers are sporting a few bruises. Virtue knocked down anyone who got in their way. Once the band saw Virtue, they stopped playing, people realized the threat and let them pass. The Windriders were hosting a party last night, so there were a lot of glider pilots present, and they squared off with Virtue’s hooligans. Simea, your friend Aibhera’s sister—what’s her name?”
“Kyonna,” Simea said. “Ky’s a firebrand, but did Virtue and the Windriders fight?”
“I didn’t see much after a crowd gathered around them and blocked my view. Except for a lot of shouting, nothing much happened. Once those black-clad goons left, the band returned, and the party resumed. Welcome to The Greenhouse. Nothing stops a party there.”
Simea said, “I’m worried because Virtue seems more militant now, and their numbers increase every tenday. Last year, they only paraded out front with signs, but now they are belligerent, and I heard rumors of goons battering anyone who opposes them. If things escalate, more people will get hurt.”
“Let’s change the subject,” Nailah said. “Where’s the rest of our study group?”
“They abandoned us since we can’t get access to the material we requested from the library. They locked every book we want in the secure section. Unless we get authorization from our masters or the Synod Council, they are off-limits to us,” Pippali frowned and pursed his lips. “My master won’t permit me into the secure section until I am recognized and endorsed by the council, and that’s a year or more away. What about you, Sim, will Eideron grant you access?”
Simea’s face burned. He stared at the gravel and answered with a half-truth. “No, Eideron hasn’t given me permission to access that section of the library.”
“You didn’t answer the question. That means you haven’t asked Eideron for access.” Nailah raised her voice. “Simea, I can’t believe you haven’t asked yet.” She folded her arms across her chest, her lips pressed tightly together, and stared at the top of Simea’s bowed head. Her gestures of disapproval escaped Simea since he refused to look at her, but he couldn’t miss the anger and frustration in her words and tone.
“Come on, Sim,” Pip said. “All the other apprentices tried, and all the masters rejected our appeals. Eideron is our last hope.”
“You don’t work for him,” Sim said. “You don’t know him. Eideron’s fearsome when he’s angry, and his sharp tongue can strip the metaphorical flesh from your bones.”
“Stop exaggerating. Eideron’s a man, not a fire-breathing monster. You won’t burst into flames when you ask. What’s the worst that could happen? He could say no, that’s all. Eideron can’t punish you if you ask questions. You need to grow a spine and take a stand, or you’ll never become a councilor.”
“Don’t you think I understand that?” Simea shouted. “I hate the way I am, but I don’t know how to change, and I don’t need you tell
ing me I suck. I can’t be the person you want me to be; I can’t even be the person I want to be, and I hate myself because of it.” Tears trickled down his flame-red cheeks. He turned away from Nailah and Pippali, consumed by the pain and shame of his failure.
Nailah moved toward Simea and put her hand on his shoulder. He wrenched away. “I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity, silly. It’s moral support. The Creator made us all different. We each have a purpose and a destiny. You just need to find yours.”
“Chances are you are right, Simea, Eideron would reject your request. If he refuses to grant access to us, there may be another way into the secure stacks,” Pip said.
“What way?” Nailah asked.
“Sim’s friend, the one who works in the library, might pull some strings and help us.”
“Aibhera? Can she get access to the secure stacks, Simea?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you ask her? You grew up next door to her. At least she won’t browbeat you if you ask,” Nailah reached toward Simea but then withdrew her hand. “I’ve only met her a few times, but she seems sweet.”
“I can ask her, but Aibhera may not have access to the secure stacks either, and I wouldn’t want to cause trouble for her. Aibhera and I must approach Eideron about another matter. We have an appointment with him for the midweek dinner. That’s only three days from now.”
“Why are you meeting with him?”
“Aibhera and I had several disturbing dreams, and we hope he can interpret them for us.”
“It’s almost sunrise. We should all get to work at the Grand Hall before the meetings start, or Simea won’t be the only one who faces his master’s wrath.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Morning Meeting
Himish kissed Leela on the cheek, patted her rump, and headed for the lift platform. When he arrived, councilors, other bureaucrats, and their apprentices already packed the platform. He scoured the crowd for his friend Eideron, but the puffy white cloud of Eideron’s hair was not among the ebony heads nodding in conversation. Himish and Eideron were the oldest members of the Synod Council, and Himish had heard rumors that a faction of younger councilors felt it was past time they withdrew from active service.
Several senior councilors nodded greetings to Himish while conversing with their apprentices. A few stopped and inquired about his health and that of his wife. The youngest members of the group ignored Himish and focused their attention on Councilor Herron, a rising star in Abalon’s politics. Himish had never liked the smarmy, arrogant upstart. Even as an apprentice, Herron was overly fond of celebrity and sought the limelight at every opportunity. The apprenticeship process, designed to weed out people like Herron, had somehow failed, and he had slithered his way to the top despite the vetting process.
Outside the platform, a heavy mist glowed golden in the sunlight and obscured the caldera floor. Himish took it as an omen about the future of the Sokai. If egotistical pedants like Herron led the Sokai, Abalon’s future looked as nebulous to Himish as the mist outside the lift platform.
The elevator arrived, and the lift operator cranked the doors open. After the fellow crammed everyone into the metal cage for their descent to the caldera floor, Herron’s admirers surrounded Himish. He ignored the sycophants and focused instead on the view from the lift cage. Once they plunged below the fog bank, the fields and orchards became visible, and the mist disappeared. Beneath the cloud cover, Lake Selatan, the lake in the caldera’s center named after the visionary leader who brought the Sokai to their present home, came into view. It’s water, gray as a pool of molten lead this morning added to Himish’s increasing melancholy. How strange. I was in a pleasant mood earlier. The weather rarely affects me this way, so it must be the company. I shouldn’t let these fawning upstarts get under my skin.
The elevator creaked and shuddered to a halt, and its passengers streamed out of its metal mesh cage onto the crater floor’s paved plaza. People hustled off to their workplaces while Himish stood alone for a moment and stared down the tree-lined boulevard toward the council chamber. The cherry trees cast no shadows under the overcast sky, but their blossoms littered the avenue, painting the black stone pavement bright red. Himish shook his head to dislodge the image of a river of blood leading toward the semicircular bulk of the Synod Council’s Grand Hall.
Centuries ago, the Sokai built the Grand Hall from the stone of the crater’s western face. Behind the council chamber, a labyrinth of passageways penetrated deep into the cliff that formed the building’s curved rear wall. Those passageways and rooms provided offices for the officials and bureaucrats who managed the business of keeping over a million Sokai fed, clothed, and housed. Below those offices, other passages led to sewage recycling facilities that produced fertilizer for the fields. Lower still, geothermal chambers harvested heat from the lava beneath the caldera and created steam to run turbines and generators.
Himish’s aged knees carried him up the series of broad steps, past the carved basalt columns and into the portico. The tall wood-panel doors stood open and allowed the cloud-filtered sunlight to brighten the interior of the antechamber. Councilors and supplicants jammed the entrance hall with their bodies, and the hiss of conversation hung in the air like steam escaping from a pipe. The domed skylight in the council chamber brightened as the morning mist burned away. Himish made his way to his usual spot and chatted with one of his neighbors until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned.
“Aha, Eideron. What kept you?” Himish asked. “You are always among the first to arrive. You look troubled. What disturbs you this morning and upsets your schedule?”
“Simea, my apprentice…” Eideron began his explanation, but the Speaker pounded on the dais with her staff of office, called the meeting to order, and cut off his answer.
“We’ll talk later, Himish,” he whispered.
The assembly dragged on while councilors wrangled and debated. Himish remained semi-aware of the proceedings. A mixture of curiosity and apprehension deepened within him.
When the session ended, Eideron called him into a private room to explain the source of his distraction.
Eideron sat with his hands folded in his lap and spoke slowly. “Simea has a friend, and they dream identical nightmares of the Nethera. The Dark Ones are active again. At least that is the way I interpret their dreams.”
Himish’s jaw hung open for a moment. He raised his voice, “What? Both? The same dreams at the same time?”
“Yes.” Eideron raised his hands, signaling Himish to speak in hushed tones. “Beware of eavesdroppers. I don’t want to start a controversy until we understand their dreams’ significance. They dream of great darkness headed our way, and only three people stand against the tide of destruction. Even more important, the three who stand together are two Abrhaani and one Eniila.”
“Eniila and Abrhaani…allies?” Himish looked solemn. “Improbable.”
“Foretold, not improbable, and you know what that means,” Eideron said.
“Simea is one of our most gifted apprentices, Eideron, but the girl, whose apprentice is she?”
“I don’t know her. No one has mentioned an apprentice by that name. Simea doesn’t talk about his life or relationships outside the Order—”
“And when he talks, he mostly stammers,” Himish interrupted. “You should not intimidate your protégés.”
“Nonsense. Intimidation is good for apprentices. They need stiff backbones, and that’s the best way to build character, but let’s not debate that again. I want a second opinion about their dreams. Could you join me for midweek supper?”
“Of course I can. I can always use a delicious meal.” He patted his stomach. “That boy cooks far better meals than Leela does.”
Eideron replied, “No doubt about it. Leela is a saintly woman, devout and dedicated—”
“And unable to boil water,” Himish interrupted. “But Leela fills my life with joy.”
Eideron smile
d. “One reason I work hard is to avoid her persistent invitations for meals…and her tireless determination to pair me with one of her widowed friends.”
“You know her well, old friend. On the bright side—” Himish patted his stomach. “I attribute her lack of culinary skills to prolonging my youthful vigor. She enables me to avoid indulging in gluttony. I only eat when necessary, and never more than I need, unlike your rotund self.” Himish poked Eideron’s belly with his forefinger.
“You’re just jealous.”
“Forsooth, you have exposed my inner darkness. Spirits of gluttony and jealousy possess me. Will you report me to the Speaker so they can expel me from this solemn assembly?”
Both men chuckled. Eideron and Himish had been cronies for decades, and they did not have many secrets left between them. In private, they often bantered this way. The Speaker would have reprimanded them if she knew, but she didn’t, and they would never tell her. Himish and Eideron’s bond of friendship, developed over decades of fellowship, ran deep.
“Arrive before sundown if possible,” Eideron said and started toward the door.
“Both I and my appetite look forward to it; I will walk as fast as my skinny old legs can carry me.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Booking Passage
The guide looked back. Aelfric spoke again, “Tell him to put up that crossbow, or you’ll be the first to taste my anger.”
Aelfric’s guide turned toward the figure on the roof and shouted to the bowman, “Put down your weapon, you stupid ass, unless you aims to get the both o’ us killed. If he wanted to do us harm, he woulda done it long afore now, and he wouldna come alone.”
The archer hesitated, nodded, and lowered his crossbow. Aelfric bowed to the bowman with a flourish. The fellow descended the far side of the sloped roof, and once he disappeared below the peak, Aelfric relaxed. With that crisis averted, he focused on the street ahead.