Clem giggled, then immediately covered her smile when Oren frowned. She donned a more serious expression. “Thank you,” she said. “Really, I mean it. That was very brave.”
Oren gauged whether or not she was sincere, then flushed. “It was nothing. Those guys are jerks. I don’t even know why I came with them.”
“Well I’m glad you did,” she said. “Here.” Clementine pulled off her pack and unzipped it, pulling out a small pouch. It jingled as she loosened the drawstrings and emptied the contents into her palm; a metal ring and a small octahedron. “Put this on.” She held out the ring to him.
“I don’t…I mean thanks, but that’s not really my thing.”
Clementine rolled her eyes, “Just put it on for a second. You can take it off after I show you.”
Oren accepted the ring and placed it on his middle finger. Clementine took his hand and held it open with the palm up. She held the octahedron a few inches above his palm and spun it. Remarkably, it floated there, glowing faintly.
Oren’s eyes widened. As he watched the small spinning object, he forgot about the pain in his jaw and stomach. “Incredible! How did you do that?”
“It’s simple, really,” Clem said confidently, “the ring is made of negatively ionized atoms…atomically aligned of course, and the octahedron—”
“Octa-what?” Oren interrupted.
“Octahedron. It’s a shape with eight sides?” Clem shook her head in exasperation. “The octahedron is composed of positively ionized atoms, also aligned, and emulsified with blue phosphorous.” She gave Oren a self-satisfied smile, taking obvious pleasure in his lack of comprehension.
He watched it spin for a moment, moving his hand up and down. “This is really neat, thanks for showing it to me.” He grabbed the octahedron, removed the ring and held both out to her.
“I wasn’t showing it to you, I was giving it to you. He must have hit your head pretty hard.”
“Really? I can have this? Wow, thanks!” Oren placed the ring and octahedron in his pocket and slowly stood up.
Clementine stood up as well. “We should head back to school.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he answered.
They walked toward the school in silence. Oren twiddled the ring in his pocket.
As they neared the grounds, Clem spoke up, “I’ve gotta go this way now,” she pointed. “I’ll see you around, Oren.”
“Yeah, see you around,” he answered. The first bell rang and they went their separate ways.
Clementine leapt out of the way, narrowly avoiding a large spiked cactus as it smashed into the ground beside her with a thwump! I really need to pay more attention, she scolded herself, eying the scaly lizard impaled on the cactus’ four-inch spikes. She walked for another hour before coming upon a sizable boulder. Should make a nice shady spot for lunch. Clem set down her pack and stretched toward the sky, then bent down and touched her toes. She loosened her headscarf, and put her hands on her hips, studying the surroundings.
Tall buttes jutted out from the hardpan like long, gnarled fingers. In the distance she could make out golden rolling sand dunes. Probably reach those in a few days. On the surface, the desert appeared dead. Crooked, dried trees spotted the landscape, wavering in the heat. It hadn’t taken Clem long to find that the desert wasn’t actually dead. Far from it. It was teeming with life, if you knew where to look for it. Granted, most of it was trying to kill you. Clem sat down for a late lunch. She would have to figure something out soon. Her rations and water were running dangerously low.
The afternoon progressed much like the rest of the day, until a black shadow slid along the hardpan, drawing her attention. She looked up and spotted a massive bird gliding on the thermals high above. Her instincts kicked in and she scrambled for cover, of which there wasn’t much. A nearby scraggly bush would have to do. She crouched down beside it as the creature sailed overhead. It was magnificent. Iridescent black feathers glinted turquoise in the sunlight. It had four powerful feathered limbs, which it beat in a liquid smooth pattern, and a long tail that trailed some distance behind.
Once it was far enough away Clem continued her trek across the hard desert floor. As the sun sank toward the mountain peaks in the distance, she decided to make her camp atop a medium sized butte up ahead. Once she reached it, she climbed the uneven surface and pulled herself up onto the flat top. Clem set her pack down, removed her headscarf, and pressed her palms into the small of her back. The light was fading fast, but she had a decent vantage point from which to estimate the next morning’s journey, and scan for any obstacles or threats. As she turned, a small black shape dropped out of the sky like a rock far to the east.
Clem turned to reach for her pack when she glimpsed what looked like a thin stream of smoke rising to the west. She rubbed her eyes and strained to see in the dying light. The sun was now behind the mountains, but she was pretty certain of what she saw. Clem sighed. Better to find out who or what it is than the other way around. She re-wrapped her headscarf and climbed down, leaving her pack atop the butte.
11
The Spy
Sweat beaded on Oren’s forehead. He ducked an attack and rolled gracefully; tucking into a ball, then springing to his feet, sword at the ready. He and Khalil circled each other slowly. Their careful steps crunched on the hot dry sand. Oren advanced with hummingbird’s kiss, stabbing with the tip of his sheathed blade. Khalil knocked it away effortlessly and countered with the lazy mantis. The attack swept toward Oren’s chest. He had to bend backwards to avoid it, catching himself from falling with his other hand. He pushed off with it, launching into an all-out offensive. Khalil countered each strike with precision.
Oren glanced behind Khalil to a spot of discolored sand a few yards away, and was immediately forced to defend as Khalil retaliated with his own onslaught.
Their weapons clacked rapidly as Oren struggled to hold him off. He was being driven back toward a small rocky butte. Need to lure him back to that spot, he thought. Oren fended off two more attacks, stepping backward. Close enough. He leapt back, turned and ran the last few feet toward the rocky butte. Charging toward it at full speed, he used his momentum to run up the vertical surface and flip backwards away from it. Khalil watched with bemusement as Oren flipped over his head, landing a few feet away. Oren assumed the tide recedes, and grinned at his instructor. Khalil smirked, and resumed his attack. Oren defended, allowing Khalil to push him back toward the area of discolored sand.
When they neared it, Oren carefully stepped over the spot as three rapid attacks clacked loudly against his weapon, sending vibrations into his arm. Khalil stepped forward, his foot just inches from where Oren hoped it would be. Boil it! Oren ducked low, sweeping his sword toward Khalil’s legs. Khalil jumped, then swept Oren’s feet out from under him with a low spinning kick. Khalil rose and began to assume the headsman’s axe when his foot brushed the discolored sand. Several strands of thick brown grass whipped up, wrapping his leg and binding it to the ground. Oren seized the opportunity, diving aside. Khalil’s sheathed blade clacked onto the ground, missing by inches. Oren jumped up, sidestepped around Khalil, and struck swiftly with the advancing tide.
This is it! I’ve finally got him! Oren thought. Khalil dropped his sword and struck Oren’s sword arm once, twice, and a third time; all within less than a second. Oren’s arm went numb and he dropped his sword. Khalil caught it and pressed the sheathed blade to Oren’s neck, all before Khalil’s own blade hit the hardpan with a clack.
“How did you…” Oren stammered. His arm hung at his side, useless.
Khalil lowered the blade. “You will regain use of your arm in a moment, at which point you may begin collecting scraps for the fire.” He smiled mischievously. “Now if you would kindly pass me a canteen, I would be rid of this strangleweed.
“No, wait a minute.”
Khalil sighed, and raised an eyebrow.
“What did you do to my arm? That’s cheating!”
“It is no m
ore cheating than luring your opponent to a patch of strangleweed.” Khalil gestured to his entangled leg.
“Wait, you knew it was there the whole time, didn’t you?” Pins and needles began to prickle Oren’s forearm.
“You have learned your lessons well Sa’di. I commend your resourcefulness. Against many foes, you would have succeeded.”
Oren lost his train of thought, caught off guard by the praise that normally came so seldom. “I…thank you, Sifu.”
“But,” Khalil continued, and Oren’s shoulders slumped, “You must always assume that your opponent has anticipated your trap, even after it is sprung. You assumed I would be vulnerable, and chose an attack that left you open as a result.”
“Yes Sifu.” Oren lowered his head and performed the Bao Quan.
“The canteen?”
He retrieved it and handed it over. Khalil poured a few drops onto the strangle weed and it relaxed, allowing him to disentangle his foot. Oren had learned about strangleweed the hard way. The strands were strong as steel, and any attempt at cutting them merely caused the others to tighten painfully.
“How did you do that to my arm? And so fast?”
“It is an ancient technique. Thousands of years old.”
Oren’s arm had now regained most of its feeling. He tested it, flexing the muscles. “Can you teach me?”
“It would take many years of dedicated practice, meditation, and a detailed understanding of human anatomy.”
Oren looked at Khalil expectantly.
Khalil sighed, “Very well. When you are ready, I will begin your instruction.”
“When I’m ready? When will that be?”
“It will be when I have decided it is so. There is not much light left, Sa’di. I suggest you begin collecting brush and scraps for the fire; unless of course you would rather do so in the dark.” Khalil handed Oren his sword, picked up his own, and walked toward the butte to set up camp for the night.
Oren set out collecting dry brush and sticks from the stunted, gnarled trees that spotted the landscape. He returned with a full armload, to find Khalil lounging against a rock, smoking his pipe.
“Ah, you have returned. I have found a most excellent spot for the fire.” He gestured with his pipe. Oren placed the kindling nearby, and set to building a fire for the evening.
Once finished their meals of boiled roots and broth, Oren and Khalil relaxed, gazing into the flames, as they had many nights before. Khalil was beginning to doze, and Oren found himself once again thinking of his old home in New Arcadia. He thought of his final days there. Not the horror of their conclusion, but the joy on his mother’s face when they were all together. The warmth of the light, and the mundane comforts that one so easily took for granted. The phantom smell of slow roasting meat taunted his senses, making the memory seem all the more real.
“Will there be time? To go back, I mean?”
Khalil snorted awake, “Back? Back where?”
“Home. I mean…my old home.” Oren’s eyes grew distant.
“It would be unwise. Besides, your old home is—” he stopped suddenly. “We are being watched.”
“What? Where? By who?” Oren’s head swiveled around as he scanned the darkness.
“It is unlikely that the Ministry would send agents this far into the desert,” Khalil said calmly.
Oren listened intently and after a moment heard the barely audible scrape of a footstep on sand beyond the light of their fire.
“There!” he whispered, “I heard it.”
“Indeed.” Khalil remained seated. He appeared untroubled by the visitor.
“Well? Shouldn’t we investigate? What if it’s someone dangerous?”
Khalil yawned. “If you wish, Sa’di, you may go.” He waived a hand dismissively.
Oren cocked his head, looking at him sideways then shook his head. He picked up his sword and stood. The sound of retreating footsteps running into the night spurred him to action. He sprinted in their direction.
The desert air rushed past him, crisp and cool on his skin. A crescent moon provided faint, intermittent light as it passed in and out of the cloud cover. Oren’s training with Khalil, along with the Oath of Sacrifice, gave him a considerable advantage. He moved through the night like an agile cat, launching off of and over obstacles that would have hindered the average person. He relished in the thrill of it; so much so that he nearly forgot his pursuit. It was at this moment that a black shape slammed into him, knocking him sideways. It clung to him and they tumbled along the ground for several yards before sliding to a stop.
His attacker was perched on top of him, pressing a short blade to his throat. The head was wrapped in a shemagh, obscuring everything but the eyes.
“Why are you following me?” the voice was muffled behind the headwrap.
“You’re…a woman?” Oren’s confusion overrode his common sense.
Her blade pressed harder against his throat. Any further and it would break the skin. “Wait, wait! I was only following you because you were spying on us!”
The eyes widened suddenly. “You?” she said, and the pressure on his neck lessened slightly. Then the eyes narrowed in anger and the pressure was back in an instant.
“Do I know you?” Oren strained, conscious of the sharp metal at his throat. “Ouch! Look I wasn’t going to hurt you, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to, you know, kill us in our sleep!”
“And what makes you think I won’t?” the venomous voice asked.
“Well, the fact that you haven’t already slit my throat is a pretty good indication.”
“Maybe I will once I learn where you keep your supplies.” Something in her voice told Oren she wasn’t entirely committed to the threat.
“Look, that’s really not a good idea. My friend is probably right behind us, and—”
She glanced around. Oren took advantage of the opening. He grabbed her wrist and twisted. She screamed as he wrenched the blade away from his neck and out of her hand. She twisted off him, jamming a knee into his ribs and writhing free. Oren scrambled to his feet, and they stood facing each other defensively. She rubbed her wrist, and Oren held his bruised ribs. Her eyes looked angrier than ever.
“That hurt, you big dumb oaf!” she shouted.
Oren’s brow furrowed. That voice. I know that voice.
“…Clem?” he peered forward, “Is that you?” He took a step toward her, and she stepped back.
“Stop following me!”
Oren reached out, but she turned and ran.
“Clem! Wait!” He was about to give chase when a hand rested on his shoulder.
“Let her go, Sa’di.”
Oren turned around and was face to face with Khalil. “You don’t understand, I think I know her…knew her.”
“Regardless, she did us no harm, and wished not to be followed.”
Oren gently prodded his tender ribs and muttered to himself, “Yeah, no harm.” He took one last look in the direction she ran, and they turned back to camp. Khalil and Oren walked in silence, side by side. Oren’s mind raced. Why would Clem be in the Miralaja? Was it really her? She must have recognized me…why was she so angry? Will I ever see her again?
The thoughts continued even after he lay in his blankets, looking up at the starry sky. Eventually, his eyelids became heavy, and he drifted off.
12
Acrimony
Oren and Khalil continued on toward New Arcadia. It had been two days since they were spied upon. At the time, Oren could have sworn it was Clementine, but with each day that passed he became less sure. Maybe I just wanted it to be her, he thought. The mind can play tricks, and he had been thinking a lot about his old home.
Ever since that night, Oren was extra paranoid about being watched. He kept a keen eye during the day, and twice thought he spotted a small puff of dust in the distance. Could have been an aga lizard, but maybe not.
Another scorching hot day relented as evening brought with it a cool breeze. Oren and Khali
l continued their routine of sparring for chores – which Oren consistently lost – and bedding down for the night. Lying in his blankets, Oren fell into an uneasy sleep…
Pans rattled in the kitchen as his mother prepared dinner, and sweet cherry flavored smoke slowly rose from his father’s pipe. Oren caught a flicker in his peripheral and glanced toward the window. The houses across the street erupted into flames. Oren stood in shock. His parents seemed oblivious. A woman ran down the street screaming frantically, and a shiver ran down Oren’s spine. A Breaker glided after her with its hood pushed back, revealing a deathly white skull wrapped in a paper thin skin. It slowed for a moment, and looked toward him. He was caught by its rippling white eyes like a fly in a web, and a blood red grin split its face.
Oren screamed and fell backward over a footstool. “Dad! Mom! Outside!”
His father glanced at him over the top of his newspaper. “Calm down Son. What did I say about yelling in the house?” The utter calm with which he spoke sent another chill down Oren’s spine.
“Can’t you see what’s happening out there?” Oren pleaded. A house across the street collapsed, sending a plume of smoke and sparks into the air. Muffled screams could be heard from outside.
“Now Oren, I’m not going to say it again. Either you calm down, or you’ll spend the rest of the night in your room.”
Oren stared in disbelief. His mother came in from the kitchen carrying a large dish with two oven mitts.
“Dinner time!” She smiled and placed it on the table.
The smell of smoke filled Oren’s nostrils. He looked over toward the entryway and saw that the curtains were on fire. He grabbed a blanket from the couch and tried desperately to smother the flames. The blanket caught fire and he dropped it, backing away.
“Mmmm, that smells delicious!” His father tapped out his pipe and put down the paper. He walked over to the dinner table and seated himself.
“Come on sweetie, time to eat,” his mother smiled at him and pulled out his chair before seating herself.
Recreance (The Aeternum Chronicles Book 1) Page 16