by Colt, K. J.
“Truly, thou didst miss me so much?”
Atrion looked wounded. “Didst thou not feel the same?”
“I thought of thee with every new dawn, ’til the time came when I thought of naught at all,” Eraekryst said, sitting across from his brother. His smile faded. “Unlike thee, I did despair, and my hope waned with my life.”
“But thou art here now,” Atrion said, “though thou hast missed the festivities in thine honor. Since when doth Eraekryst of Celaedrion reject his role as the center of all attention?” He pocketed the flute, awaiting an answer, but his brother supplied none.
“I will answer for thee,” Atrion continued, “for I believe thou didst not want to disappoint our people. Thou didst not want them to celebrate thy return, for thy presence here is but a temporary occasion.”
“How dost thou know—” Eraekryst paused when his brother held up a hand.
“I am thy brother. Also, I have overheard the conversation of our parents and the elder.” At the reference to Chierond, Eraekryst’s expression soured, and Atrion regarded him curiously, resting his head against the tree. “I see that Chierond hath spoken with thee.”
“Aye.” Eraekryst avoided his gaze. “What was it thou hast heard?”
“Thou wert a superb instructor in the art of eavesdropping, Eraekryst, though ’tis a habit in which I do not often indulge. However, when Chierond had returned with so grim a mien, I could not help but wonder at the cause.” Atrion’s eyes had not left his brother. “Thus I followed him and our parents to a secretive gathering.” He paused.
“Well, what of it? Wilt thou not recount what thou hast heard?” Eraekryst asked, impatient.
“Aye, Eraekryst, as I will.” Atrion waited until his brother met his gaze. “There is something in thine eyes, something not present before thine absence. ’Tis a distance, I believe, and something more.”
Eraekryst watched as Atrion’s expression softened, and he thought he might shed a tear.
“I am so very sorry for what thou hast endured. ’Tis what thou dost not say that relays thy pain. Thou art changed, aye, but thou art still my brother.” Finally it was Atrion who turned away to gaze at the broken image of the moon behind the leafy branches. “Is there nothing I can say to keep thee here?”
“There is a disconnect,” Eraekryst began, his voice solemn. “A rift. Not merely between me and our people, but between our people and the mortal world. We shaped it, and then we retreated. Is this to be our end, Atrion? To sit feebly without purpose as the world moves onward? What will become of us? Already we are characters in fantasies that the Humans create. We no longer exist. Why do we hide when we can yet be a part of their world? We can forge a new role….”
“So thou hast said before,” Atrion said. “I know how thou seest our fate, brother. Why, then, wouldst thou abandon thy role again? Hast thou come home only to bid us farewell?”
Eraekryst shook his head. “We walk blindly. We need to know these mortals whose world we share. We must walk amongst them, reestablish our purpose.”
“Chierond believes that we will again have purpose, when time sees fit. He doth not believe mortals and immortals can integrate.”
Eraekryst’s mouth tightened. “He never explains why. He is afraid—afraid of the mortals, our future, of change…of himself. His long years are telling upon him.”
“His long life hath me believe his fear is justified,” Atrion said. “How canst thou speak of thy friend in such a way?”
“He is not what he seems,” Eraekryst said darkly. “I know him not.”
“Thou speakest of fear, but perhaps he sees thee as the coward, running from thy responsibility.”
“’Tis not fear that prompts my departure, Atrion. ’Tis a need to know, to discover. We cannot help those we cannot understand.”
Atrion sighed. “Thou and Chierond are so much alike. I listen to either of you, and I see truth behind both your words.”
“’Tis the mark of a good leader,” Eraekryst said.
Atrion’s brow furrowed, and he leaned forward. “Why dost thou say this?”
“Because ’tis true,” he responded.
Atrion straightened. “I know ’twas thee to which Chierond referred when he spoke to our regents. He said ’twas worse than he feared, and Alaeryn asked if he would allow thee to go.”
“How did the elder respond?” Eraekryst asked, feigning boredom by flicking fallen leaves.
“He said that to detain thee would cause thee to grow in bitterness and resentment, thus jeopardizing what they had sought to achieve. He said ’twas better to keep faith in the morals instilled within thy heart and that they should allow thee to leave.”
Eraekryst looked up and studied his brother carefully. “This is what thou hast heard? Was there no more?”
“Chierond said his immortal spirit would be forever burdened should he be wrong. I heard no more beyond that, for I felt a great need to find thee. Alas, thou hadst vanished. What is this about, Eraekryst? What is it I must know?” Atrion’s hands were outstretched, pleading. “When last I let thee venture beyond this forest, thou wert lost to us.”
“There is no blame for thee to shoulder, Atrion,” Eraekryst said, lightly gripping his brother’s hand. “That guilt is for others to bear.”
“What—”
“Come with me.”
Atrion’s astonishment left him speechless.
“Too much time hath been lost between us,” Eraekryst said. “We can explore this world together, learn from the mortals who share it with us. Thou hast had but a glimpse in thine own adventure, but now we can build a new tale—one our kindred cannot ignore.”
Atrion could not meet his gaze. “I cannot leave. I cannot abandon my place—”
“’Tis not abandonment. Atrion, we are immortal. Our kindred can wait for our return. Veloria will not burn to the ground in our absence, I assure thee,” Eraekryst pressed.
“They will wonder where we have gone,” Atrion said.
“Dost thou wish to be like Chierond? Trapped by obligations in an unchanging sanctuary? What use is that? I need thee with me, to keep me to my wits.” Eraekryst smiled. “And thou art much more amiable. ‘Twould make travel and correspondence less difficult.”
“Thou seekest to corrupt me,” Atrion warned, but he, too, was smiling.
Eraekryst beamed. “Thou hast no argument, as I see it.”
“That is because thou seest only from thine own vantage, brother.”
“To see from another’s perspective would be merely speculative and hardly insightful.”
Atrion shook his head. “Thou art correct: I am nicer. I should go with thee if for no other reason than to sympathize with the Humans who dare speak with thee.”
Eraekryst’s eyes brightened like the dawn. “Then thou wilt join me.”
Atrion closed his eyes and sighed. “Aye, brother.” When he opened them, he glanced around the forest. “I should inform someone of our departure.”
Eraekryst stared at him. “For what purpose? So that thou wilt be dissuaded? Nay, let us leave now and in secrecy. I have arranged transportation.”
“But there will be naught a trace of us,” Atrion protested.
“I have no doubt Chierond will decipher our course of action,” Eraekryst said flatly. Already he was on his feet, offering his hand to his brother.
Atrion’s eyes met his brother’s waiting hand, and he froze. Then, slowly, a smile grew upon his face, and he accepted the invitation.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
STICKY
“THE ROOST” WAS AN appropriate name for his accommodations, though instead of housing birds, the small, attic-like space was overcrowded with bodies. They were sprawled everywhere: on benches, under benches, on cots, beneath cots, on the floor, and some atop each other. Some were bundled in tattered blankets, some were nearly nude, but none of them had a particularly pleasant odor. Arythan doubted he was scented like a blossom either, but he, at least, managed to keep himself some
what clean.
If the goal had been to achieve some measure of sleep, he had failed. Aside from the overpowering stench of unwashed Humans, his head throbbed something fierce, as did his blistered burn. He had scrounged a narrow strip of floor near the wall as his bed, but no matter how he lay, the pain was relentless. He had tossed and turned all night, only to find that he would often bump into his neighbor or roll into the wall. The late hours turned early, and his growing irritation only added to his exhaustion…though by then he was too exhausted to sleep at all.
There was only one thought, one small consolation that eased his ire: plotting his revenge. His brother had wanted him to learn patience, and this situation would be a fitting test. Certainly Emérion Aguilos had not intended for him to exercise any vindictive action, but even if Arythan no longer looked like a demon, his mindset was wholly chaotic. The mage would have to resist the temptation to act out sooner, and this was especially difficult when Jodann came to rouse him.
“Time to go,” she said, appearing above him, smiling her rotten grin. Though she could see he was awake, she reached to shake him.
“Don’ touch me,” Arythan warned. He sat up, and his vision faded to black before it slowly returned to him. He thought he would vomit, but there was nothing in his stomach to lose.
“C’mon. We gotta get started,” she insisted.
“Don’t they feed us ‘ere?” he asked. “One-glove said ‘e would take care of us.”
“You gotta earn your meal,” she said as though it was obvious. She tapped her foot impatiently as he struggled to stand. “What’s the matter with you? Move it.”
Arythan paused to glare at her, then swallowed his anger as one would a rock. He followed her out of the room in silence, knowing that nothing kind would leave his lips should he speak. Once they were outside, the cool of the morning air helped clear his head and his lungs. The sun had barely broken the horizon, and the sky was golden. Merchants were setting up their stands, and shops were opening their shutters. Of all places, Jodann stopped across from the bakery, perhaps thinking she would have his full attention.
“This is how it works: we got a list. We get everything on the list, we earn our keep for the day. The Red-Handed started you off easy. Twenty soldiers.” Jodann frowned and snapped her fingers. “You listening?”
Arythan turned away from the bakery. “What?”
“You need to get twenty soldiers.”
“Twenty soldiers?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“I’d think you can do that,” Jodann said, misunderstanding his expression. “I have my own bag to fill, but I’ll be watching you. Don’t do anything stupid, or the Red-Handed will hear about it.”
Arythan watched as she walked away. Twenty soldiers was nothing; in fact, it was more or less what he had been lifting to pay for his daily ration of bread and some fruit. He could easily steal more, but he was careful, not greedy. And what keep was he to earn? Another night in the Roost? He would sooner sleep outside. Maybe thieves fared better with their meals.
He turned back to the bakery. Just wait, he told himself and forced his feet to carry him away. Already market-goers were trickling into the street in search of fresh food for breakfast. Twenty soldiers. I can do better than that. Arythan scratched at the fine hairs on his chin, lifted his scarf, and went to work.
When Jodann returned to check on Arythan’s progress, she found him leaning against the side of a building, munching on a loaf of bread. She frowned and crossed her arms. “Where’d you get that?”
“Baker,” came the obvious response.
“What about the hat?”
“’At-maker.” Arythan had lost his first stolen hat when the thieves had poisoned him. He figured they owed him a new one.
“How much you earn?”
“Nothing, but I stole an army. Fifty soldiers.” His free hand delved into his pocket and tossed her the weighty coin bag.
“Fifty?” Jodann gawked at him. “Some of that go for the bread and the hat?”
Arythan merely looked at her and took another bite.
“You don’t listen, do you? I told you twenty soldiers,” Jodann said, rekindling her ire.
“I got more. I did better.”
“You’ll get a finger chopped for taking too much, fool.”
Now it was Arythan’s turn to stare. “Why? It all goes to ‘is pocket, no?”
“Take too much, and people get suspicious. Just think if we all took as much as we wanted.”
“The greedy bastard still wouldn’t be ‘appy,” Arythan replied. “So what do I do, return it?”
Jodann lowered her voice. “I’ll take it. I’ll tell the Red-Handed it’s part of my count.”
“’S awfully kind o’ y’,” Arythan said.
“You should know that stealing food is wrong. Stealing anything not for the guild is wrong,” Jodann said, looking at his hat.
“Most blokes don’t like medori,” Arythan said. “I ‘ave to ‘ide if I’m going to steal anything.” He pulled the bread protectively closer, as though she would take it from him. “An’ I ‘ave to eat to survive.”
Jodann shrugged. “You can explain it to the Red-Handed. Guess you’re not hungry anymore. Thought we’d meet up with some of the others for breakfast.”
“Still ‘ungry.”
“Normally I wouldn’t do this, but since I’m stuck with you, and I’m hungry, I’ll have to bring you along. C’mon.” She started on her way, Arythan following.
The lower level of the Roost was a kitchen, though it was only accessible to those with special permission granted them by the Red-Handed. Apparently Jodann and her cohorts numbered among these, for she was waved in while Arythan was stopped by the brute at the door.
“He’s with me, Dem,” Jodann said, and the bully scowled at the mage as he allowed him entry.
The mess hall was a mess. Unidentifiable remnants of old meals were encrusted upon the tables, chairs, and floor. Arythan thought he glimpsed an insect scurrying along the wall and into a hole. His appetite wavered but not much; hunger was a perpetual state for him now.
Jodann’s buddies were already picking at their meal, smacking their mouths noisily as they chewed what Arythan guessed were biscuits. Whatever was left on their trenchers was something between a solid and a liquid, and it was yellowish. The shabby group of three waved her over and slid her a chair.
“Who ya got, there?” a scruffy man asked. “This the new guy? The caster?”
“Yeah,” Jodann said with a sigh. “But don’t ask him to do any magic. Red don’t want him to.” She took her chair and glanced at Arythan. “Sit if you want.”
Reluctantly, Arythan found a seat adjacent to the table.
“We were just talkin’ about you,” a woman with a big nose said. “We figure Ol’ Red will put you on the big swipe.”
“What big swipe?” Jodann asked.
“The Crimson Dragon. Tell me you ain’t seen the papers up?”
“I seen ‘em. I didn’t know we were gonna work ‘em.”
“You joking? This is big. Ol’ Red will want his cut.”
Bored enough to intrude, Arythan asked, “What’s the Crimson Dragon?” He thought of the ink-colored bread from before.
All four of them turned to stare at him. He stared back.
“It’s only the greatest traveling show in Secramore,” Big Nose said. “They got music, fire-eaters, boga beasts—”
“Fancy ladies,” the scruffy man said with a glint in his eye. Big Nose swatted him.
“Well, Red ain’t told me yet if I’m in on it,” Jodann said, grabbing a yellow thing from what must have been a communal trencher. Arythan had to turn away to avoid seeing the squishy yellow bits break apart amongst her rotten teeth. To make matters worse, a dirt-covered girl came and set loaded trenchers before Jodann and him.
“You gonna eat that?” The third cohort had finally voiced himself. He was a round little man with a red face and bushy eyebrows.
Arythan pu
shed his trencher in his direction.
“Thought you were hungry,” Jodann said, eyeing the mage.
Arythan shrugged. In the following quiet, all he could hear were the thieves chewing. He decided to distract himself and alleviate his nausea with a question. “So the Red-‘anded runs the ‘ole guild, tells everyone what to do?”
“Jedinom’s sword, he is new, ain’t he?” the scruffy man asked, eyeing Arythan.
“He’s a southie. He don’t know nothing. And we just got him yesterday,” Jodann told her friend. Then she turned to Arythan. “He runs the guild in these parts. Wraith is in charge of everything.”
“Wraith?”
“Yeah, Wraith,” Jodann said. “Some say he’s a dead man come back to life. Others say he’s cursed by demons. I say he’s just a story. I’ve ain’t never seen him.”
“Just ‘cuz you ain’t seen him don’t mean he ain’t real,” Scruffy countered. “It takes somebody to start a guild like this, and there’s too many stories ‘bout him. I think he’s real, and I think he’s gotta be the smartest thief out there.”
“Why’d ‘e do this?” Arythan asked. “Why start a guild? There was never one before; thieves did just fine.”
Jodann continued to chew her food, but that did not stop her from talking. “Story goes he was a thief just like us. He stole this magic rock, thinking he’d be able to sell it for a good sum. Instead, the rock’s dark magic gave him strange powers. Changed him.”
“Cursed him,” Big Nose said with a nod.
“He could do whatever he wanted, and nothing bad happened to him. All the bad stuff happened to everyone around him. Like a backwards curse.” Jodann did not notice the bits of food that left her mouth as she spoke. “Some say he can’t die.”
Arythan frowned and wiped the spittle from his coat sleeve. “Y’ believe it?”
“Don’t sound like a curse to me,” she said. “Sounds like a gift, not to die, not to get hurt. Wouldn’t mind having that.”
“Ain’t natural,” Big Nose said, her eyes wide. “I still say he’s cursed.”