by Brandon Barr
The captain looked dejected. “Many would find it distasteful, but there is no violation. These two were essentially breaking their contracts by leaving.”
“And I helped them,” said Karience. “Now they’ve been murdered!”
“There are many who look forward to the charter passing,” said Captain Hawth. “As you know, I am one of them.”
“I wish I could promise you this charter will indeed pass,” said Karience, “but you see the signatures here. The resistance is growing stronger—and now they have a legal case against us; I smell a battle coming.”
Karience nodded to Hawth. “That will be all, Captain.”
As the door closed, she turned to Nephitus. “Aven and Winter must not find out about this…not yet, at least. I fear it would crush them. I advise that we do not tell any of the Missionaries.”
“Agreed,” said Nephitus. “I am concerned the resistance sent Pike, intending to use him as a spy.”
“Yes, there’s no question there,” said Karience. “Any discomfort I felt at wiping the boy’s brain is blown to the wind. I have half a mind to send him back to them as he is. Give them a taste of what we’re capable of.”
“I’d strongly advise against that,” said Nephitus.
“Don’t worry, Warden. I said I only had half a mind to do so. The other half knows better.” She glanced again at the bloody basket on her desk. “I need to visit the Magnus Empyrean and inform him of recent events. These heads only add weight to my many other concerns.”
_____
AVEN
Aven took a bite of the sweet, chewy bread on the table as Rueik tore a chunk off for himself and eyed him speculatively.
The bright kitchen lights were almost painful reflecting off Rueik’s light skin. Aven tore off a large piece of the loaf and stared at the rising steam.
He’d woken early and had gone out to the cliff’s edge beside the portal to watch the waves crash upon the sand. So much was stirring inside him. Last night, he’d felt truly embraced by the Missionaries as they spent the evening laughing and talking and watching the strange vid screen together. Of course, last night, he’d almost been literally embraced…
Daeymara’s captivating eyes floated into his mind. He pushed the image away. Thankfully, he’d kept his head. Each Missionary had treated him and his sister with kindness, inviting them to be a part of their odd little group. A few more nights like last night, and he could call them friends. But, at the same time, he’d lost none of his suspicion of the Guardian order. The vids only served to confirm it more—their power, their influence. Each world they encountered was analyzed and strategically coddled into the whole with promises of protection from the Beasts.
As he had stood looking out at the sea, taking in its sounds and smells, he had thought of Daeymara and Arentiss. And then she came, her recollection rising like a treasured ghost. Harvest. He remembered being there, among the sape vines, her body warm against his. And the slow, soft kisses melding into the ones that betrayed urgency and a need to express so much more.
The last thing he had experienced before Rueik found him at the edge of the cliff was a welcomed peace about Winter. Her choice to become a Missionary.
He still had to tell her about his farm.
As soon as he finished breakfast.
“Out of all the applicants,” said Rueik, fingering another piece of bread, “why do you think you and Winter were chosen?”
Aven looked up at Rueik. Karience had given him a hint to that question when they’d first boarded The Relic. It was because of Winter’s gift, but he had to keep his mouth shut about it.
Aven shrugged. “I don’t know why were here. How many others wanted our position?”
Rueik smirked. “At least fifty. Probably many more. It’s very unusual for someone to be chosen from the lower classes. I wish it happened more often.” He stopped and searched Aven’s face. “Pike is Baron Rhaudius’s son. I understand why he might be chosen, but not the two of you.”
“Rhaudius wanted to make a show of giving Winter and I to the Guardians. He thought it would stop a farm rebellion. I don’t know how we were chosen, but I suppose Rhaudius is powerful enough to have influenced the decision.”
“Powerful to you,” said Rueik, “but he’s a minnow among the Royal fish. And he couldn’t have swayed the Guardians. They choose based on mathematical calculations.”
That last phrase, mathematical calculations, came into his mind so seamlessly. He barely remembered the VOKK device was there anymore.
Rueik lifted a pear to his mouth but didn’t bite. “There’s some deeper reason the two of you are here, and if you are in the dark about it, that makes it all the more curious.”
Aven grinned. “It’s nice knowing I’m special, even if I don’t know why.”
Rueik laughed, but the muscles on his face seemed tight. “Have you talked to Pike since he returned from the portal with Zoecara?”
“He went with me to look at farms.” Aven glanced over to the kitchen door. They were alone. “Half of me gets angry seeing him so happy. He wears that big dumb smile that has no memory of its past. But then, something else in me likes that smile. We were friends of sorts, in our childhood. Before the Baron corrupted him.”
Rueik nodded and set the pear back on the table. “I’m concerned Zoecara might have done something to Pike when they stepped through the portal together.”
Aven scowled. “What do you mean?”
“Zoecara hasn’t been acting right lately. She…” his voice trailed off, then his eyes met Aven’s and fixed there. Rueik said in a whisper, “She suspects you and your sister are Shadowmen.”
Aven tensed at the accusation. Was he joking? Rueik’s face said he wasn’t. “Why would she think that?” asked Aven.
“Do you know about the murders yet? The three Emissaries who you replaced?”
“Yes. Karience told us.”
“Zoecara can’t figure out why you or Winter are here, so she thinks the murders were carried out to make room for the two of you, and that your spies for a Beast.”
“Has she told Karience this?”
Rueik folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “No. Only me. She doesn’t trust anyone else.”
Rueik glanced at the door. “I have to tell you something, for your own safety. I’ve had this concern about Zoecara in the back of my head for a time. She and I have been together for five months now—courting—and she’s always made me uncomfortable with how close to the edge of ethical she pushes things. Snooping, stealing documents from the Royals, trying to figure out the murders, and…I honestly don’t know how far she’ll go to try to prove that you and Winter are Shadowmen.”
Something about the way Rueik broached the problem didn’t sit right with Aven. “Why are you telling this to me, and not the Empyrean?”
Rueik leaned forward and cleared his throat. “Look, I want you and your sister to be careful. That’s all.”
“Alright, we’ll be careful,” said Aven, unnerved by the intensity behind Rueik’s words.
Rueik nodded. “I just have to be sure Zoecara hasn’t tampered with Pike. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I know how desperate she is to uncover why you and Winter are really here.”
Aven watched him in silence. He couldn’t help but feel Rueik testing him in some way, by telling him so much information. To see what he would do with it. Or maybe it was like he said…Zoecara had made him paranoid. Of all the Guardians, Aven had spent the least amount of time with Zoecara. He didn’t know anything about her.
“I’ll ask you again,” said Rueik. “Can you think of any reason at all you might have been chosen as Emissaries? If I could only give Zoecara something to calm her fears.”
Aven hated to lie to Rueik, but he had no other choice. “I have no idea,” he said.
Rueik shrugged. “Just be cautious, alright. You understand now.”
Aven nodded. He had an uncomfortable knot in his stomach. He needed to tell Winter ab
out Zoecara’s suspicions of them. They could decide the next step together.
_____
WINTER
“It’s nice seeing a light in your eyes again,” tapped Aven.
“I’m feeling better. I’m working with the Missionaries now.”
They stood just outside the Guardian Tower, overlooking the worn path that led to the God’s Eye. The cloudless sky was bright, and the warmth of midday sunlight tingled her skin.
“I have a surprise to tell you,” Aven tapped.
“I like those.”
“I bought a farm.”
“What?” said Winter.
“I bought a farm,” repeated Aven.
“Where? How?”
“North of here, about an hour walk. The land is on gently rolling hills, and, best of all, it’s in a free farm region. Arentiss and Daeymara helped me get a loan. Apparently being a Guardian means you don’t need money to buy something.”
“You bought a farm?”
Her brother nodded with a broad smile.
“So when do I get to see your land?”
“Tomorrow evening they’re handing me a paper of some kind. Then it will be mine.”
An inner excitement warred with the shadows on Aven’s face. She knew a farm was really all he wanted. That and a family. Then he could live satisfied. She pushed aside the sudden, intruding thought of her last vision. Aven dead in the teeth of a monster. She wasn’t going to let them come to pass. She would act, and the terrible future would be averted, just as it had happened with her and Karience on Bridge.
“I’ll have to be on the lookout for a mate now,” said Winter. “Then you’ll have everything. Only, if I find you a mate, the hovel won’t be like the old one we grew up in. I won’t have my own room and I’ll have to knock before I go inside.”
Aven put his arm around her and tucked her close beside him. “We can buy you a farm. Right next to mine. Then we would be neighbors.”
Winter wondered if her destiny would allow such a thing. She doubted it, but now was not the time to voice this.
“Your mate would find me intolerable,” tapped Winter.
Aven seemed lost for a moment in the distant crashing waves.
“Whoever we choose for each other,” tapped Aven, “they’ll have to understand us.”
“Our fingertalk?”
“That, but also our different ways. You have an easy task in that. But how can I find a mate for a wanderer-girl like you?”
Winter saddened at the thought. “Maybe I was meant to walk this life alone.”
Aven was quiet, as if considering the possibility.
“Don’t lose hope,” said Aven, “At the very least, I will be waiting for you when you return from your missions.” He bent and drew a heart in the dirt, then looked up at her, smiled and laughed lightly. “With the wife you’ve chosen for me, of course, and our children. Lots of children.”
“What if I can’t find another Harvest?”
The moment Winter said her name, she wished she could take it back. But to her surprise, the humor in Aven’s eyes didn’t fade away. Was he…healing?
Still, Winter whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Aven squeezed her hand. “Don’t be. I can’t hold on to her forever.”
“I’ll find you a good mate. I promise.”
Aven met her eyes.
“There’s something I have to tell you. About Pike.”
“What?”
“Something Rueik told me,” whispered Aven. “It involves Zoecara. I think we should be careful around her.”
Winter looked puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ll tell you what Rueik said, then we can figure out what we want to do.”
HEARTH
Happiness is like the sunlight, warm and delightful, yet often hidden by night or cloud, roof or canopy. But sorrows are like shadows, one can always find them, even when the sun is shining.
-Her Reflections, Cebrene, stone etching at Noean, Verdlands, rock five.
CHAPTER 25
SAVARAH
Savarah grimaced as she applied a wet concoction of fungi, ground bark, and canker ivy to her left shoulder. Carefully, she bandaged the healing mixture against her wound.
Her companions lay still, where they slept upon the ground on mats. Sunlight bathed the weary sleepers, having finally crested the looming mountain peaks that had shadowed them until mid morning. Five hours was enough rest.
Her fever had broken just before midnight, as they rode. Still, she had pushed them onward. Until the early morning hours.
Now, Savarah roused each of them. Having all but collapsed where they dismounted last night, they had only to untie their horses and their party was on the move again. Their destination was Tilmar by evening, where they could eat a warm meal and sleep in warm beds when they reached the lumber town.
As they rode, they ate breakfast from their packs. She glanced back and saw the weariness in their eyes. The sunlight would rouse them, give them enough heat to warm their faces and dry off the dampness that clung to their clothing.
Savarah’s thoughts drifted toward the Verdlands. To the killings she would perform there. And to the diviner. The boy who was a Tongue for the gods. Before she’d killed Orum, he’d mentioned the boy, and how two of Isolaug’s spies had tried to kill him.
Might the Tongue give her some talisman or word of power for her mission? If Isolaug wanted the diviner dead, then it seemed plausible the diviner—and the gods—might wish the same for Isolaug.
She turned her head toward Meluscia. “What do you know of diviners?” asked Savarah.
“They were humans like us, to whom the Makers gave powerful gifts. The histories are full of them. Many of the sacred texts were written by their hand.”
“The gods have the power to destroy the Beasts, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me,” said Savarah. “What is the purpose behind the struggle between man and Beast? Is our world a proving ground for the gods?”
Meluscia brought her horse beside Savarah’s. “Katlel would be better suited to answer you on that. But, from what I’ve read, our world was never a proving ground. Monaiella taught me to see the world as a womb made by the gods for mankind. A womb where we can grow and become more beautiful creatures than ever before.”
“A womb is a safe space,” said Savarah. “Hearth is as violent as the innards of a volcano. Tell me how this doesn’t fit a proving ground more than a womb?”
“No, you’re right, it is not safe. I’m not sure I can answer you…but there’s an old manuscript in the Scriptorium that comes to mind. Very old. It says humans were to be like rocks swallowed by an oyster…
“‘…slowly refined through a million fleeting pains and aches, slowly transformed into magnificent pearls, fully formed for the plucking of Arubaton, but the Great Travesty took the slowness away. Now the ache is too much. And the pain does not leave, but lingers on. It is too much, too fast.’”
Savarah hid a smile. The impassioned tone of Meluscia’s recitation sounded ridiculous in Savarah’s ears. “Who is Arubaton? And what is the Great Travesty?”
Meluscia stared for a moment, looking at Savarah, yet looking past her. “No one knows for certain, but Katlel believes Arubaton is the name given to all Makers, as if coalesced into one being. It is a good interpretation but from very limited sources. But as to the Great Travesty, the truth of that has been lost, its only foggy reference found in a very old kelp scroll.”
Savarah scowled at Meluscia. She preferred a proving ground, not a womb or an oyster. For if it were a fight to prove oneself, her mission to kill the gods’ enemies might put her in good stead. Perhaps Meluscia was wrong about this point.
“Is that a quote from a diviner?” asked Savarah.
“No, it is from Sculquid, a Sea King from the Age of Primacy. He and only one other had access to the remnant of writings of the first humans on Hearth, though most were lost when Sculquid sailed off to
search for his father, captured by Isolaug, but he was never seen again.”
Savarah rode the rest of the journey in silence. She had to stop the party three times to let Bezmerenna, Praseme, and Meluscia squat a piss in the woods. And then Terling fell asleep at the reins and broke a finger tumbling from his horse. Belen was the only capable traveler, young, strong, able to hold his urine.
The smoke from Tilmar’s ironworks finally appeared in the sky, and hung like a sick cloud high above the forest. For the others, it promised food, warmth, and dry beds. For Savarah, the black billowing fumes carried the promise of her next encounter. The last spy of the Blue Mountain Hold. She had to find Harcor and stuff him full of arrows.
When they neared Tilmar, Savarah took her leave of the party, telling Meluscia she had to see a certain man about the road to the Verdlands and find out if there might be a quicker path.
As soon as she parted from the company, she tied her horse in the woods and ran on foot to where Harcor’s farmhouse lay outside the village of Tilmar. The sun had set when she neared the home, faint smoke issued from the chimney. A light shone through a window at the back of the house. Savarah lingered on the outskirts of the woods, watching, waiting.
Darkness enveloped the farmhouse as the last crimson glow of light faded to black. Savarah darted forward, an arrow fitted to her newly strung bow. She moved to the back of the house and peered in at an angle through the lit window. Inside, was an older woman with graying hair, seated at a chair, two candles burning beside her on a wall shelf. A knife was in her hand and she was sharpening it with a flat grey stone, but her eyes never moved from their place on the wall.
This was Harcor’s blind wife, whom he’d wedded years ago, when he was a young spy. But where was Harcor? Perhaps he was in town for some reason.
Normally, she would have relished finding a place to hide and lie in wait, but that required staying awake, and she was nearing her limits of deprivation. Especially with her injury.