by Clayton Wood
“Nalin,” Darius replied. The old man – Nalin – looked to be about eighty, with short white hair scattered about his head. He had brown eyes, with tanned skin crisscrossed with wrinkles so deep that Kyle imagined he could fit quarters in them. He wore a simple white shirt and brown pants, and nondescript sandals, and by the looks of him, he wasn't one to care very much about his appearance. He sported a scraggly beard, and his clothes were impressively wrinkled.
“And who is this?” Nalin asked, gesturing at Kyle. Kyle smiled weakly at the old man, his nose wrinkling as it was struck by the sudden, pungent odor of armpit.
“This is Kyle,” Darius answered, patting Kyle on the shoulder. Nalin extended his hand, and Kyle shook it dutifully. The old man peered at Kyle rather disapprovingly.
“A bit young to come here, don't you think?” he asked, glancing up at Darius. “Was he struck by cancer?”
“No,” Darius replied. Kyle frowned at that; why would Nalin bring up such a horrible thing?
“Well then what use is he?” Nalin pressed. Darius shook his head.
“He's visiting.”
“Visiting?” Nalin exclaimed, his untamed eyebrows rising, compressing his forehead into a dozen horizontal wrinkles. He glanced at Kyle again, his eyebrows furrowing. “I thought only you could do that.”
“Kyle's different,” Darius replied. “Where's Marcus?” he asked. Nalin shrugged, apparently unperturbed by the change in topic.
“At home, I think,” he answered, rubbing his grizzled chin. “We don't get many politicians here,” he added. “I wanted to hate the man, I'll admit it, but I can't. He's very personable.”
“He's valuable in his own field, as you all are,” Darius stated. Then he patted the old man on the shoulder. “Goodbye Nalin.”
“Ah, just a moment,” Nalin requested, holding up his left hand, within which he was clutching a large book. Kyle was surprised to see that he recognized the letters printed on the front cover; it was written in English, a language he hadn't read in weeks. After all, Doma's language – both spoken and written – was completely different than anything Kyle had encountered back on Earth. The only reason Kyle could understand anything people were saying was that he wore Kalibar's universal translator – a small yellow earring – on his right earlobe.
But this book's title he recognized. “Introductory Physics” the cover read in bold capital letters. How on earth had Nalin gotten a copy of a physics textbook, written in English no less?
“I have to thank you again for getting me this,” Nalin said, beaming at Darius. “We've all been spending months trying to learn the language. Fascinating stuff, really.”
“Thought you'd like it,” Darius replied.
“Oh I do,” Nalin agreed. “But the theories aren't even the best part,” he added, opening the book and flipping through the pages rapidly. He stopped suddenly, rotating the book around, and showing it to Darius and Kyle. “Look at these paintings!” he gushed, pointing to a photograph of a city – Manhattan, it looked like – on one of the pages. “Such incredible detail! The artist must have painted them with a magnifying lens.” He shook his head then, glancing up at Darius. “Do you suppose such cities actually exist?”
“They do,” Darius confirmed. Nalin gave a low whistle, rotating the book again and peering at the photograph.
“What I wouldn't give to go there,” he murmured. Then he looked up at Darius. “I suppose you've been there, haven't you?” He shook his head. “You've lived a hell of a life, Ampir.”
“We should go,” Darius stated. The old man shut his book with a loud clap, and shook hands with Darius one more time.
“I want to show you my newest creation before you leave again,” he stated, his eyes bright. “I've been playing around with magically powered electrical circuits ever since I learned about the things. Genius, using electricity to make lights!” he exclaimed. “I'm also working on an electric motor,” he added. “Powered by magic, it could conceivably run for weeks without recharging. Imagine the applications!”
“I'll stop by later,” Darius promised. Then he ushered Kyle away from the unkempt old man, walking past the middle-aged woman still sitting on the front steps of one of the buildings. She was hunched over what looked like a thin sheet of stone. Unlike Nalin, the woman made no attempt to talk with them.
“Who's that?” Kyle asked, trying not to stare at her.
“Samb,” Darius answered. “She designed the city.”
Kyle stared at the thin sheet of stone in the woman's lap, standing on his tip-toes to get a better look. To his surprise, there was an intricate carving on the surface of the sheet, of a house, it appeared. As he watched, the thinnest of lines carved itself into the stone as the woman stared intently at its surface.
“Is she doing that?”
“Similar process to carving runes in crystals,” Darius affirmed. Kyle nodded, then frowned at the woman – Samb – as they passed by her. She hadn't so much as moved since they'd arrived.
“Does she even know we're here?” he asked.
“Doubtful.”
They made their way down the street to the courtyard, turning left toward another street paralleling the giant mansion nearby. More buildings lined this street, colorful banners hanging from golden poles jutting out from the second-story walls. There was lettering written down the length of the banners, but Kyle couldn't understand the language. The streets were mostly deserted, with only one elderly man sitting in a chair on the sidewalk next to one of the buildings. The man waved to Darius as they walked by, stroking his long gray beard slowly as he stared at Kyle.
“Ampir!” the man shouted, rising from his chair and intercepting them on the sidewalk. “Where have you been? It's been what, three months?”
“Something like that,” Darius replied. The two men shook hands, after which the elderly man turned his gaze back to Kyle. The man was dressed in a simple gray cloak, with sandals similar to Nalin's.
“My name is Tek,” the old man introduced, holding a wrinkled hand out to Kyle. Kyle paused, then clasped it in his own, trying not to wince at the dry, leathery feel of the man's skin. “And who are you, young man?”
“Kyle.”
“Well,” Tek stated, “...it's nice to meet you.” He let go of Kyle's hand, turning to Darius. “Been a long, long time since I've seen someone so young,” he added. His expression became grave. “Was it cancer?”
“He's just visiting,” Darius corrected. Kyle frowned at Tek, then glanced up at Darius. Why did everyone think he had cancer? But Darius didn't seem to notice Kyle's questioning look.
“Isn't that against the rules?” Tek pressed.
“Kyle's different,” Darius explained. Tek frowned, grooming his beard with his fingers.
“Oh really?” he asked. “How so?”
“Later,” Darius promised. That seemed to be enough for Tek, who shrugged amicably, then stepped out of their way.
“Well, I look forward to hearing more about that,” he said, gesturing for them to be on their way. “Nice to meet you, Kyle,” he added. Kyle mumbled goodbye, then followed Darius down the street once again. The road curved to the right, the buildings lining it painted in bright colors. This area of the city appeared to be abandoned; despite a good five minutes’ worth of walking, they ran into not a single other person.
“Where is everyone?” Kyle asked as the road ended suddenly at a tall black gate. It was made of black metal bars some twenty feet high, and was at least a hundred feet across. The road terminated at T-shaped intersection, and Darius turned leftward. Another empty street greeted them, with tall trees lining the left side. The black gate continued as a tall fence on the right.
“Working,” Darius answered.
“Working?” Kyle pressed. “Everyone here's really...old.” And it was true; Tek had looked to be at least eighty years old, and Nalin...well, if he was younger than ninety, Kyle would have been shocked.
“Age doesn't matter here,” Darius replied.
“What do you mean?”
But Darius, being Darius, said nothing. Which of course, meant that he wouldn't say anything, even if Kyle pressed the matter. The man was hard-headed, that was for sure. Of course, for being two thousand years old and possessing god-like powers, yet being forced to spend all of his time babysitting a bed-wetting kid, Kyle supposed Darius was doing pretty well.
The road curved to the left slightly, and they followed it silently for the next few minutes, until at last it ended in a small cul-de-sac. At the end of this stood a one-story home, light brown in color. It was well-kept, surrounded by a short white fence with a small gate. Darius led Kyle up to this, opening the gate and gesturing for Kyle to walk through. Kyle did so, but Darius did not, closing the door behind Kyle.
“Wait, aren't you coming?” Kyle asked, feeling suddenly apprehensive.
“I'll be back,” Darius replied. He gestured down a small path to the front door of the house with one gauntleted hand. “Go on,” he urged. “He's been waiting for you.”
“Who?” Kyle asked, not budging. The thought of not having Darius at his side made him feel...vulnerable. Darius said nothing, only staring at him with his intense blue eyes.
And then he vanished.
Kyle blinked, staring in disbelief at the spot where Darius had been standing. A sudden cool breeze whipped through Kyle's hair, then abated as quickly as it had come.
“Darius?” he called out. But there was no answer.
He turned about, staring at the front door of the ranch before him, feeling fear twist his innards. Then he glanced back at the gate, wondering where Darius had gone. Why had he left? And who was waiting for Kyle beyond that door?
Kyle took a deep breath in, then forced himself to walk forward, his gravity boots clicking on the stones of the walkway. Tiny insects buzzed about his face, thirsty for the sweat that had begun to drip down his forehead. He swatted them away, reaching the door. It was a simple wooden door, with a brass doorknob and no keyhole. He paused before it, glancing back over his shoulder, hoping to see Darius standing there by the gate. No such luck.
“Do come in,” a deep voice bellowed. Kyle jumped, backpedaling hurriedly from the door, glancing about. The voice seemed to have come from the door itself, but no one was there.
“Don't be afraid,” the voice called out, again coming from the door. “Darius is far more likely to hurt you than I,” it added with a chuckle. Kyle couldn't help but smile at that. Still, it was with trepidation that he walked back up to the door and twisted the doorknob. The door swung open, revealing a long, narrow hallway beyond. The interior of the house was remarkably cozy, with wood floors and white-painted walls. A tall ceiling with bare wooden beams formed a triangle above his head. He stepped forward into the hallway, the floor creaking under the soles of his gravity boots. There were closed doors on either side of the hallway, and a partly open one at the end, some ten feet away. Kyle walked up to the partially open door, and gathering his courage, pushed it open with one palm.
Beyond he found a large room, perhaps thirty feet square, with a cathedral-style ceiling made of more bare wooden beams. The room appeared to be a combination of a kitchen and dining room, with a few round tables in the center surrounded by short wooden chairs. At the far end of the room was an older-appearing man standing by a large stove, stirring something in a pan with a long wooden spoon. The delicious aroma of stewed meat reached Kyle's nostrils, and his stomach growled almost painfully. It was only then that he realized that he hadn't eaten in well over a day. The man by the stove turned about.
“Ah, there you are!” he exclaimed, taking the pot off of the stove and carrying it to one of the tables in the center of the room. He set it down carefully, then motioned for Kyle to come forward and sit on one of the chairs by the table. “You must be starving,” the man added. “You're in luck, I just finished your stew.”
Kyle hesitated, staring at the old man. He was perhaps seventy, with long salt-and-pepper hair, and a neatly-trimmed mustache and beard. He was remarkably handsome for his age, with twinkling gray eyes and an infectious smile. Kyle felt his unease drain away almost immediately, and he obeyed the man's request, walking up and sitting down on the offered chair. The old man grinned, setting down a large bowl in front of Kyle, and spooning a generous helping of steaming-hot stew into it. Kyle's mouth watered almost to the point of drooling, and his stomach growled again, so loud that the old man had to have heard it.
“My name,” the man stated, taking off the apron he'd been wearing and placing it neatly on the back of his own chair, then sitting down opposite Kyle, “...is Marcus.” He extended a hand, and Kyle took it. Marcus clasped Kyle's hand in both of his own, then let go, spooning some of the stew from the pot to his own bowl. “Dig in,” he stated, promptly following his own advice.
“I'm Kyle,” Kyle replied, taking a spoonful of stew and bringing it to his lips. It was steaming ferociously, and Kyle blew on it a few times before sipping. The stew was hearty, meaty, juicy, and mouth-wateringly perfect. He had never tasted anything quite like it.
“I know,” Marcus replied merrily, sipping his own stew. His gray eyes narrowed, and he rolled the stew in his mouth for a long moment, then nodded approvingly. “I think my little experiment was a success,” he stated happily. Then he watched as Kyle slurped his own strew greedily, shoving steaming spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. “Try the ambrosia.”
“Huh?” Kyle asked. Marcus gestured toward a cup by Kyle's bowl, filled with a pale green liquid. Kyle hesitated, then raised the cup to his lips, sipping the fluid cautiously. It was cool, slightly sweet, and instantly soothing to his burning mouth...all in all, a perfect complement to the stew. Kyle gulped it down greedily, then put the cup down with a satisfied sigh.
“Good, isn't it?” Marcus asked. Kyle nodded, spooning more stew into his mouth. It wasn't long before he'd finished the entire bowl, swallowing another gulp of the ambrosia, then sitting back in his chair with a contented sigh. With his hunger and thirst quenched, he felt a buzzing pleasantness come over him.
“Thank you,” Kyle said, nodding at Marcus. The old man grinned.
“Forgive Darius for forgetting to feed you,” he requested. “I suspect he has no need of sustenance anymore, and sometimes forgets that others still do.” He regarded Kyle silently for a moment, sipping on his own glass of ambrosia, then leaning back in his own chair, like Kyle. “How are you feeling, Kyle?” he asked.
“Good,” Kyle responded automatically. Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“You've been through a lot, I'm sure,” he said. “So young, but already nearly killed by an Ulfar, attacked by assassins, kidnapped by a sadist, stood up to a god...in addition to whatever Darius put you through since then.” He chuckled at Kyle's surprised look. “Darius told me all about your adventures.”
“It's been interesting,” Kyle admitted. Marcus smiled.
“You're made of stern stuff, Kyle,” he said approvingly. “You're a credit to your family.”
“Thanks,” Kyle mumbled, his cheeks flushing. He immediately thought of his mom and dad, back on Earth. They'd probably already had the funeral, having given up on finding him weeks ago. He felt immediately depressed at the thought, and pined for home. Would Darius ever bring him back? And if he did, what then? He'd be behind in school, and probably need to stay back. And he'd end up missing Kalibar and Ariana as much as he missed his parents now. Kyle lowered his gaze, letting out a long sigh.
“You miss your family,” Marcus observed, rubbing his beard with one hand. Kyle nodded mutely, afraid that if he said anything, his voice might crack. “An unfortunate necessity,” Marcus stated with a sigh of his own. “Darius's methods may seem...remarkably cruel,” he added, “...but I assure you, he has nothing but your best interests at heart.”
“Yeah, right,” Kyle grumbled. “I don't think he has a heart.” Marcus laughed.
“Trust me, my friend,” he replied, his gray eyes twinkling. Kyle shrugged.
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“But I don't even know who you are.”
“Ah, but you do,” Marcus corrected. “You just don't remember.”
“Huh?”
“Kalibar told you about me,” Marcus offered. Then he chuckled as Kyle gave him a blank stare. Kyle squirmed as Marcus continued to look at him, no doubt waiting for him to remember.
“Sorry,” Kyle mumbled, breaking the silence. He was pretty sure he'd never heard of – or seen – the man before.
“He did only mention me once,” Marcus mused. “Personally, I've found that memory is something that can be vastly improved, with a bit of practice,” he added, not unkindly. “It's all about knowing what information is important, and what isn't.” He took another swig of his ambrosia, then folded his arms across his chest, peering at Kyle. “I do suspect you've missed quite a few clues along the way.”
Kyle lowered his gaze to the tabletop, feeling, once again, deficient. Marcus chuckled.
“Don't take it personally,” he replied good-naturedly. “Paying attention is hard...living passively is easy.” He leaned forward again. “Would you like to know who I am?”
“Yeah.”
“Very well,” Marcus stated, leaning back. “I,” he declared, “...was Darius's previous employer.”
Chapter 18
Ariana opened her eyes, her heart pounding in her chest.
The ceiling above was hidden in darkness, the large window by her bedside magically darkened to block out the starlight. She yawned, stretching her arms out wide, wondering what time it was. It felt like she'd just fallen asleep.
She lay there for a moment, vaguely recalling the dream she'd just been woken from, yet another nightmare. She'd been trapped in a burning house, someone familiar calling out her name. Her mother.
She sighed, closing her eyes. She knew she would have a hard time sleeping after such a nightmare. She always did. She thought about getting out of bed, maybe to get something to eat. Nothing made her sleepier than a full belly; Jenkins had become quite accustomed to Ariana's night-time snacks. All she had to do was activate the magical communication orb on her nightstand, and he would come. It made her wonder just how much sleep the butler got each night, having to cater to so many at odd hours. She hated to inconvenience the man, but Jenkins never complained.