The Seer

by Rowan McAllister

  “What rebels?”

  Daks hadn’t meant to growl the question, but the anger he’d carried inside him for years threatened to break the stranglehold he kept on it at the mention of the Brotherhood.

  He received another kick from Shura that made him grit his teeth. He threw her a wounded look before clamping his lips closed and huffing out a breath. Their primary contacts were all rebels in one way or another, but Dagma made it sound like this was something more organized, and that was information they needed to have.

  Dagma’s unshed tears dried as she looked at him like she was beginning to wonder if he was a little dense. “The rebels,” she hissed, casting her gaze nervously about the room again as if she suddenly remembered where she was.

  Daks gritted his teeth, clenched his fist around his tankard, and took a calming breath. Hoping to avoid another bruising kick to his shin, he softened his expression and his tone. “Perhaps we should wait and talk to Maran. It might be safer for you if we cut this conversation short.”

  He should’ve known better than to attempt subtlety. He’d been chosen for his gift, his skill in a fight, and his ability to impersonate a ruthless black marketeer, not because he was a charmer.

  Dagma stiffened and her eyes narrowed. She ran a hand over her demurely plaited hair as she drew back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m with the rebels now too,” she huffed quietly. “We all share the risk, for Val and everyone else who’s lost someone they love.”

  “You’re very brave. And we’re so sorry to hear about your brother,” Shura cut in before Daks could open his mouth again. She pushed forward, grinding an elbow into his ribs in the process. “But this conversation sounds like more than our usual trade with Maran. So, for all our sakes, perhaps it is best kept to that more private location you mentioned, where we may all talk at length and you can tell us everything you’ve been up to.”

  Dagma’s eyes softened and her cheeks pinked as her attention riveted on Shura again. That was fine with Daks, especially if it meant no more physical attacks on his person. Of the two of them, Shura was the better-looking anyway, and Dagma obviously agreed.

  Cigani were rare in Rassa. Since the Brotherhood had taken over hundreds of years ago and made life hell for anyone who didn’t share their fanatical beliefs, Shura’s people had eventually all been pushed out of the lands they used to roam freely. Her skin color and slightly catlike dark eyes sometimes made missions there challenging, but her looks and shapely figure came in handy with starry-eyed boys and girls—and many men and women too. If Shura was disposed to being charming and gentle today, Daks was fine with being the dumb brute who sat quietly while the grownups talked.

  As he took a pull from his refreshed tankard, he glanced at his partner and a small smile curved his lips, edging out some of the anger still seething inside him. When Shura was being soft like this, he sometimes regretted that neither of them swung in the other’s direction. But then he’d remember what a horrible idea that was and how terrible they would be together in any relationship other than the one they had, and sanity would return… or sobriety, whichever came first.

  After another furtive scan of the room, he set his tankard down and forced himself to listen to the conversation again before Shura gave him yet one more bruise somewhere more sensitive than she’d hit already. Except when he focused on Dagma, she was already rising to leave.

  “Good day, traveler,” Shura said, nodding to the girl.

  “Good day.”

  Dagma bobbed her head before pulling on her cloak and whipping the hood up with a little too much enthusiasm as she scurried toward the door.

  “What’d I miss?” Daks asked after scooting his chair out of Shura’s reach.

  She narrowed her eyes at him and pinched her lips.

  “What? You obviously had her handled,” he protested.

  “Are you done?” she asked, nodding toward his plate.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then let’s go to our room.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Shura donned her damp cloak, shouldered her pack, and made her way to Faret’s bar. After exchanging a few words with her, Faret waved to another one of his four daughters, and she led them up the stairs toward their usual room at the end of the hall above the kitchens. The heat rising from the great hearth below wasn’t ideal after the closeness of the common room, even if it did chase away some of the damp, but it was the room nearest to a second set of stairs only the family used—which also afforded Daks and Shura a means of coming and going from the inn without being seen.

  Daks hung his cloak on a hook by the door, tossed his pack in a corner, and slumped into one of the two plain wooden chairs set up next to a small table by the only window. He took a sip from the almost empty tankard he’d carried up with him and frowned. He’d have to go back down for a refill soon.

  “Comfy?” Shura asked.

  She stood over him with her hands on her hips and her teeth bared in what only an idiot would think was a smile.

  “It’s a little warm in here and the chair is hard, but, eh, you take what you can get.”

  When she continued to glare at him, he sighed and set his tankard down. “What? You were the one telling me the job was sucking the life out of me and that it was a good thing this would be our last. You got the girl’s information. We’ll know more tomorrow, right? First part of our mission accomplished. Yay us.”

  She glared at him for a few seconds more before she huffed out a breath and dropped into the chair opposite him. “I need to know you’re here and focused before we head into an unknown and potentially dangerous situation tomorrow. You’ve been off since they told us this was the last of the funding for our missions.”

  It was his turn to narrow his eyes at her. “You know I’ve got your back. Always.”

  “I know. And there’s no one I’d rather have there than you.”

  When she didn’t say anything else, Daks grimaced and sat forward in his chair. “Look. You know better than anyone this intrigue shit isn’t why I signed on. There are other teams much better at that than we are, much less, uh, noticeable. That wasn’t why I took the job. Now it looks like this last trip is only going to get us deeper into it… and that’s if the girl wasn’t exaggerating. Plus—” He clenched his jaw before he could say the rest, grabbed his tankard again, and downed the last of its lukewarm contents in one swallow.

  Shura’s frown softened and she nodded. “I know. Maran’s boy, Val. But we don’t know why the Brotherhood took him yet. He might not have been gifted. Or he might have been gifted in a way they’d find useful.”

  His lips twisted sourly. “Great. So instead of mysteriously disappearing off the face of Kita, never to be seen or heard from again, he can look forward to a lifetime of forced servitude to the bastards. That’s so much better.”

  “There are many brothers who seem to truly enjoy their positions,” she offered with little enthusiasm.

  “But what percentage of the ones who are taken? And if you mean the Thirty-Six, those sick bastards only get off on the pain and power. They’d twist him into someone his mother wouldn’t even recognize. If only I’d ever seen the boy, touched him. I would have sensed if he had any gifts and spared them that. We could’ve gotten him away.”

  “We don’t know if he had any. They could have chosen him for some other reason, known only to them. This could have been political. Or they could have found out what she’s been doing and this was punishment.”

  “This is supposed to make me feel better?” He closed his eyes and twisted his neck from side to side. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, giving her a pained smile. “I know you’re trying to help, and I also know you feel the same way I do about them.” He blew out a breath and rubbed his forehead. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time I take a break and do something else, instead of bashing my head against this wall over and over. I mean, let’s look on the bright side. From all we’ve heard, things seem to be escalating here just fine witho
ut us. Perhaps we won’t have to do anything at all and the Brotherhood will crumble from its rotten foundations up, all on its own. Maybe a break where we simply stay home and give aid to those fleeing the coming troubles is the best we can do.”

  “Maybe a bit of rest for you too,” she added quietly.

  “Hey, we had the winter,” he said with a chuckle and a wry smile.

  “Being at the Scholomagi with all its politics and division, and then at your family’s holdings, with all that drama and tension, was nothing like a rest,” she shot back.

  He shrugged. “You were there too. If you don’t need a rest, then neither do I. I’m as tough as you are… mostly.” He said that last with another smile and a wink, and her lips quirked as she shook her head.

  “You take it more personally than I do, which is why you find it more draining,” she replied more seriously, pouring a bucket of cold water on his attempt to deflect. “I’m here because of you, Vaida. This is my fight only because it is yours. The oaths were sworn. I am bound. That doesn’t mean my heart breaks as yours does.”

  Daks shifted uncomfortably and turned to look out the small round rain-streaked window to the lovely view of the dirty side of the neighboring building. It wasn’t that Shura didn’t care for the plight of the Rassans or the Sambarans, but her people faced enough hardship and prejudice that they couldn’t afford to take on anyone else’s troubles. He felt guilty sometimes for keeping her away from them, but he had his own demons to fight, and her being oathbound to him hadn’t exactly been his decision.

  Still, the subject—and that damned Cigani title she’d given him—always made him uneasy. Vaida—chief, leader, boss.

  He grimaced. He was no leader, even if he’d spent the first half of his life being trained to become one before his gift was discovered and his life turned upside down. There was a reason his younger sister was heir to the family hold and not him, and it wasn’t only because of the laws regarding the gifted in Samebar. He didn’t want to be anyone’s boss, ever.

  After all their years together, he’d like to believe Shura stuck with him because of their friendship, not because of the oaths she’d sworn after he’d saved her entire family from certain death. But the Cigani were a proud and mysterious people, and they took their oaths very seriously. She would stay regardless of whether she liked him, and regardless of whether he wanted her to. She would be his right arm until the day he died… and he would have been lost a long time ago without her.

  When he turned his gaze back to her, he found her staring pensively out the window into the gloom, mirroring him.

  “The sun will go down soon,” she murmured before clapping her hands together and meeting his gaze again. “Grayla is expecting me tonight after the guard change,” she continued more briskly. “Can I trust you to stay out of trouble until my return?”

  He fought a grin that would probably only earn him another bruise.

  Grayla was Shura’s contact in the stables at the King’s Guard barracks. Ostensibly, the reason Shura always went alone was because it was easier for only one of them to sneak in and out of the barracks without being spotted. Shura was by far the smaller and nimbler of the two of them—and better at lying her way out of sticky situations if she was caught—so of course, she was the better choice. It had nothing to do with the fact that Grayla was lithe and toothsome and happened to think Shura hung the moon.

  He never knew exactly what went on during their “meetings.” He probably didn’t want to know. But Shura always returned with straw in her hair, a smile on her face, and information on troop movements, so who was he to question it?

  “Of course. I’ll be fine,” he replied with mock cheer. “I’m tucked up all cozy in the inn, no reason to go out on this miserable night, right? Faret’s ale is as good as ever. I’ll have a couple more to keep me company until your return. Maybe I’ll go back to the common room for a while, get a feel for the atmosphere and see what I can overhear over a game of dice or cards.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “We have no money for the slavers’ market.”

  He put a hand to his chest and widened his eyes. “Who said anything about the slavers’ market?”

  “There is no reason to go there,” she continued sternly. “We get our information tonight and tomorrow, perhaps one day more for our other contacts. Then we go home, report, and possibly try to help those fleeing to Samebar in the coming weeks and months, which is a very worthy endeavor.” She paused, but when he didn’t say anything, she leaned forward, holding his gaze. “One more gifted won’t make any difference to the Scholomagi, and we have no money for their passage back with us anyway. Right?”

  He lifted his tankard in salute and shoved the bitterness welling in his stomach down. “Right,” he replied firmly before tilting his cup against his lips, only to find it disappointingly empty.

  When she continued to glare at him, he rolled his eyes. “I’ll be a good boy. I’ll catch up on some of that rest you’ve been going on about. If you’re not back by dawn, I’ll go to our meeting place and track backwards from there. I’m not a complete idiot, you know. I’ve done this a few times myself.”

  “You are no kind of idiot,” she replied somberly. “You are only yourself, and I know that man well. We cannot save them all, and we cannot save any of them if we are dead or captured for no reason.”

  “This is true,” he agreed.

  She studied him for a few seconds more before shaking her head. “You will do as you always do, no matter what I say. But remember, if you are caught, I must try to rescue you. I am oathbound. I will not leave without you. It is my life you hold in your hands as well as yours.”

  He flinched. She certainly knew how to make a hit count. He placed a dramatic hand to his chest. “You wound me. I will be good. I promise.”

  One corner of her lips lifted. “I’ll never ask that. Just don’t get caught, and don’t take any pointless risks.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  She eyed him skeptically for a little longer before letting out an exaggerated sigh, rising, and collecting her cloak.

  “Hey,” he called before she could step through the door. “You don’t get caught either. You’re the one doing the dangerous bit tonight. Don’t think you distracted me from that fact with your nagging.”

  “We follow the plan as always. I am the careful one, remember? I do not let my passion lead me as you do.”

  “Be sure to tell Grayla that during your ‘meeting,’ okay?” he replied, smirking.

  Another glare and a cluck of her tongue were the only response he received before she pulled the door closed behind her, leaving him alone to stew in his thoughts.

  AFTER LESS than an hour, he just couldn’t take it anymore. The swirling mess in his head drove him down to the common room, in hopes of finding some distraction. He scanned the late-evening crowd, searching for a likely game to try to join, but the atmosphere had turned from tense to somber. People sat huddled over their tables in quiet conversation, seemingly uninterested in encouraging newcomers to join them.

  For the briefest of moments, he considered trying to find more private companionship for the night, but he abandoned the idea fairly quickly after another scan of the room. Pursing his lips, he leaned against Faret’s bar and drank deeply from the tankard he’d ordered. He’d known Faret a long time now, but the man discouraged too much open interaction with the people he “helped” so as not to draw suspicion. Daks couldn’t blame him, but the man was a good conversationalist in private, and Daks could have used some of that right now.

  With another heavy sigh, he eyed the door to the street and pursed his lips. He could always take a walk down toward the docks and probably find someone along the way to take the edge off for a few coin instead… but as Shura had pointed out repeatedly, they didn’t have much coin to spare, and that sort of transaction wouldn’t really give him the distraction he was hoping for anyway.

  Trying to be the good boy he’d promised he wou
ld be, he had Faret refill his drink and morosely returned to their room. After brooding for a while, he stretched out on one of the narrow beds and forced his eyes closed. Perhaps he’d finally had enough of Faret’s fine ale to numb some of the turmoil inside him so he could fall asleep.

  Their informant, Maran, writhed in the arms of shadowy men, screaming as monsters in bloodred robes dragged a terrified, faceless little tow-haired boy away. Daks was close enough to reach them if he ran, but some invisible force held him paralyzed, and all he could do was watch. He shouted over and over, but no one seemed to hear. As the terrible scene played out in front of him, the little boy began to change. He grew to a man’s height. His hair darkened to an all-too-familiar auburn, and Josel’s heartbreakingly beautiful face now stared back at him, contorted in fear and sadness.

  “I have to go, love. Can’t you understand that?” Josel cried.

  Daks bolted upright, sweating and gasping. Throwing off the smothering wool blanket, he stumbled out of bed and braced his arms on the table by the window. Images from the dream swirled through his head but slowly faded to mist as he struggled to calm his breathing.

  “Seven Hells.”

  He clenched his jaw and slumped into the chair next to him before his shaking limbs could fold and dump him on his ass. The rain had finally passed, and a full moon shone through the window, barely visible above the tiled roof of the neighboring building.

  Once his breathing had returned to something approaching normal, he glanced at the rumpled bed he’d recently vacated before turning his back on it. He needed to get out.

  Just for a little while, he promised himself and the absent Shura guiltily as he pulled on his boots.

  He’d only go for a short walk. He’d avoid dark alleys and stick to the main streets, like any other honest merchant or laborer heading home after a night at his favorite pub.

  What trouble could he possibly get into?

  For all its problems, Rassat was one of the safest cities in Kita, and not because of the King’s Guard. The guard could only put you in a cell or set you to hard labor, but the Brotherhood’s pain priests and their mysterious magics could take you as ritual fodder for the common good—they called it redeeming yourself through pain or something equally revolting. Even worse, they could make you disappear completely, to face unknown holy horrors and eternal damnation, falling through the Seven Hells forever. They had the gods on their side, after all… at least that’s what they claimed.