As the Soul Keepers and Arcs trickle in for the convocation, they praise the weapons haul and thank Sloane. She wants to give the credit to Ben, where it rightfully belongs. But Ben vehemently rejects any notion, saying something about maintaining her apathetic reputation.
Everyone chooses a weapon to their liking. Ifede picks a bow, Erim is drawn to a scythe-like weapon, Nafisa takes a Katana. Sloane chooses a short sword that she had her eye on back at the store; it’s curved with a dark woven hilt. Once each Soul Keeper has given their number of recruits, their total is just under a hundred fighters. The weapons are divvied up between terrarums based on their proportion of fighters.
Esht has proven that he could be anywhere in The Midst or on Earth. They would take the fight to him if they had any way to find him. Sloane thinks he may be hidden on Earth, and Somboon believes there are many places in Obscuri that he could hide, completely undetectable. Unfortunately, the first move is his.
“I say we get maps of all the terrarums,” Bastian says. “We’ll finalize strategies for each, so we can be prepared for multiple scenarios.”
“I’ll grab the book of maps from my library,” Sloane says. Erim nods. Hubble doesn’t notice Sloane leave because she’s too busy irritating Nim.
Sloane jogs down the hall and swings into her room. The lights flare to life as she tosses her sword onto the couch. She flips through her bookshelves to find the book she remembers. Had Sloane not been drunk on a surge of hope from the weapons, she might have noticed the shift in the shadows next to her. She might have seen the arms before they slid over her shoulders, clamping her neck back against his chest. A hand slices over her mouth, muffling her shocked screams.
Sloane snaps into an animalistic state, throwing her arms back, clawing at any skin she can reach. Her back arches and her legs flail, trying to throw him off balance. The man gasps a little at her strength, but his stance is too solid. He holds something in his clutched fist up to her face, something dark and round. The smell chars Sloane’s lungs, forcing every muscle into an involuntary shutdown. A wave of heat and smoke blacken her vision.
Sloane’s lungs prickle as she breathes in. The pain is needles stabbing her chest from the inside. Her sudden consciousness forces her ribs to contract and expel the contaminants out of her lungs. She spits out a raspy cough, and the next breath is no easier. Her eyes creak open, allowing light to spill in. They’re still a little sore from the smoke, but the residual panic from the attack keeps them open. Her breath wheezes, burning. Sloane’s body feels unusually heavy, her limbs sluggish and unwilling to move. She surveys the cell around her. Sunlight streams through a small stone slot on the wall just above where she lies. The rocks of the walls are thick and square, perfect masonry.
“I’m truly sorry about the brimstone.” A voice, melodic and gentle, parts the air. “It causes quite a nasty reaction if you’re not used to it, but it was the only way to subdue you without injury.” A man steps into Sloane’s limited field of view. He’s younger than he sounded, a trait that Sloane seems to find more and more often. He’s tall, with long wavy black hair, half tied into a bun behind his head. His chin is narrow, and his features soft except for a straight-ridged nose positioned narrowly between his eyes. They’re almond-shaped, lined darkly, and colored the same as his skin, a warm brown. His facial hair is tight and neat, slimming his cheeks.
His outfit looks ancient, more like a historical costume to Sloane’s eyes. It’s a dull red tunic with colorful embroidery and a brown sash around his middle with a slight gold fringe. His pants flow openly, cinching only around his ankles. Tendrils of steam reach up from a cup in his hand.
Sloane’s body refuses to cooperate with any moves, defensive or offensive. The pain in her throat and chest prohibits speech. The man bends down and sits on her cot, watching her solemnly. His weight next to her leg is enough of an intrusion to spur movement away, but again Sloane’s body doesn’t comply. He reaches for her head, and her breathing spasms in panic, setting off another set of wracking breaths. The man stays his hand at her reaction, showing her the cup.
“I’m only trying to help you sit up. This tea will help you recover.” He watches her face as her breathing evens out. Sloane calms herself and allows him to slide his arm under her shoulders and draw her up towards him. She’s of no use to herself in this state. She needs to recover before she has any hope of attacking and escaping. He leans her against the wall and holds the cup just under her chin, allowing the fumes to waft into her nose and mouth.
“Deep breaths,” he instructs gently. After a few painful inhalations, the pain in her lungs subsides. Her breathing becomes fuller as the thickness in her throat begins to fade. Sloane feels her body lighten until she can shakily lift her hand up to take the cup from him. He stands and crosses to the other side of the room. He doesn’t seem to want to be near her as she regains her functions. Smart.
The heat of the tea down her throat is soothing, not sharp like the brimstone. Sloane has a better view of her surroundings now. The space is much bigger than she initially thought, vastly open and free of any furniture or dividing walls. It appears to be an ancient temple, but Sloane is enclosed from most of it. She is fenced into a corner by thick wooden square posts, the bars of her cage. They’re much too close together for anyone to slip through.
Outside her enclosure, there are baby blue pillars scattered throughout the room. The image of a winged female figure stretches over a few walls and is carved into the columns. There are some sconces and hanging fire lamps. Sloane can feel a fresh breeze but cannot see any exit.
The man watches patiently as Sloane studies her new environment. “My name is Bahram,” he says. “The first thing you must know is that you will never be harmed.” Sloane’s eyes drift to him. “You are in no danger here. Of that, I promise you,” he repeats like he’s not sure if she heard him. “However, the second thing you must know is that you cannot leave.”
Sloane nods slowly, making a slight sound in her throat to test her voice’s recovery. The discomfort is mostly gone. “And here I thought the cage was just an esthetic feature,” she says, her voice low and still raspy. Bahram can’t prevent a smile from stretching across his face. Sloane wants so badly to hate him for it, but it softens him warmly. She turns her head away. “So, where is he?”
“Who?” Bahram asks.
Sloane rolls her eyes at him. “You know who.”
“I do not work for Esht.” He shakes his head slowly.
“No, not Esht.” Sloane laughs a little, which devolves into a dry cough. She sips some more tea before clarifying. “Where is Sisiro?”
TRIGINTA DUO
Hubble’s howl rings out in the darkness. Erim’s brain is awake immediately, but his body lags. His heart thumps in his head as he jumps up, fumbling around in the dark for her. He slams roughly into a table with a grunt, and pain shoots up his leg, a consequence of being unfamiliar with the layout of Sloane’s room. Finally, he finds Hubble on the floor. As soon as he touches her, she wakes and becomes silent. She howls in her sleep, Erim has learned. He doesn’t know if she’s always done it or if it started since Sloane’s been gone. He sits and tries to soothe her, talking softly and petting her. She licks his hand but won’t stop whining. Nim slides against Erim’s leg and curls up next to Hubble, which finally quiets her.
Erim returns to Sloane’s couch, staring at the ceiling, not expecting to sleep anymore. He hasn’t slept the whole night through in the week since Sloane’s been gone. The first few nights, he didn’t sleep at all, but his body eventually gave in to exhaustion. Every day seems to stretch out endlessly, but it also feels like no time has passed since she vanished.
That day, almost immediately after Sloane left the convocation room, Hubble raised her head, staring at the door. Then the hairs on her back lifted, and she bolted out of the convocation room, barking. Erim grabbed the closest weapon and raced after her, but by the time they got to Sloane’s room, it was too late. She was gone. All th
at remained was the map book, sprawled face-down on the floor. The numbness of shock seeped into Erim slowly and painfully, like freezing water, and Hubble wouldn’t stop howling.
Erim pushes the memory out of his mind, already feeling the ice spreading up his ankles. A small part of him hopes the discomfort remains; his penance for not being more vigilant. The idea of what Esht could be doing to her terrifies him like nothing ever has. He doesn’t know what he’ll become if she doesn’t come back perfectly okay. But the odds of that? Erim doesn’t think he’s got a chance. Erim’s never heard Sloane’s screams, but his mind is a master at fabricating them by now, especially in his sleep.
Once Erim discovered Sloane missing, he collected everyone he could, and they spent the whole day searching Aquae from top to bottom. As night fell, he even checked all of Sloane’s people on Earth and found no clue of her. In the morning, he dragged himself to Sofia, preparing for a verbal assault. She was still a little groggy when he walked in. He didn’t want to venture too close to her. She poked fun at him lightly for lurking in the shadows like death. When he didn’t answer, she could see something was wrong.
He told her before she could ask, unable to bear hearing the question aloud. There was a long pause before she replied, her face concealed. “Not missing, you mean gone. She’s gone,” she said, almost in a whisper. Sofia being quiet was somehow so much worse than Sofia yelling. Her face darkened, and Erim felt himself being forced out of the theater, his feet sliding across the carpet. She slammed the doors in his face, and he had a feeling they wouldn’t open anytime soon.
Over the next few days, Erim headed searches of every terrarum. His furniture took the brunt of his anger when nothing came up. He knew there would be no trace, but he had to be moving, doing something, to avoid the crippling fear that came when he was still. The only place he couldn’t search was Obscuri. There’s no way to get in, especially since no one’s heard from Sisiro.
Until Erim finds some way into Obscuri, there’s only one more place to be searched. Erim’s been putting off going as long as he can. He dreads how much worse it will feel once there are no more places to look, once the trail runs cold.
Next thing Erim knows, a rough banging on the door startles him awake. He didn’t even realize he was falling asleep, but he’s not surprised. The exhaustion has become unmanageable. He pulls himself up slowly as Nim chatters at the door. He’d move faster if he didn’t know exactly who it is, violently kicking the door.
“Figured I’d find Tweedle Dumber at Tweedle Dumb’s place,” Ben says, picking at a blister on her thumb. “NeoRealm today?” Erim nods, shooting a pointed look at her boot prints on the door.
They walk to the cor in silence, but Erim’s glad to have her company. She’s always liked the NeoRealm. If Erim were to ever ask why, she’d probably say that she loves a good group of youths to corrupt, but he thinks the Neos remind her of the kid she never got to be.
When they arrive, they follow the little path through the trees. Ben splits off on the trail towards the lake. “I’m going to the Prime House,” she says over her shoulder. “I have debts to collect.”
“Try not to start another fistfight!” Erim shouts after her. He’s not supposed to bring her here anymore, but he doesn’t care.
Around the next bend, as the trees part, memories spark. The end of the tree line served as the finish line for countless races when Erim was young. He never won, of course; Jude was always faster. Erim leaves his scythe leaning against a tree. He’s grown used to carrying with him everywhere, but he doesn’t want to frighten the Neos.
The Minor House grows before him with each step. The nostalgia of home seeps into him with a warmth that the other Houses could never stir. All his innocence is here, forever trapped within the walls. The grassy grounds are quiet. Morning lessons have already begun.
The esthetic of the place that raised him never seemed odd until he saw more of the world. He supposes it’s like that for human children too. The Minor House looks more like a temple than a school or a home. It looks ancient but is no less sturdy after thousands of years. The place always seemed so whimsical; Erim didn’t see then what he does now. The rough, time-eaten stones are packed together with an unevenness that preceded precise tools. All the wood is bleached by the sun.
Erim walks up the low front stairs, scattering the dust with his feet. The corridors are open and breezy, small plants sprouting out between the stone in some places. Birds perch in the trusses of the lofty arches. There always seemed to be sunshine when he was little. It filtered through the vine-laced columns that edged the courtyards. He supposes it’s no less sunny now, but it doesn’t feel the same.
Erim passes the meal hall, with its empty long brown tables and benches. This was his favorite room, where the whole Minor House would share their meals. His brothers and sisters would laugh and share stories, secrets, play games. He continues down the hallway, where lessons float faintly with the breeze. He passes a couple of lesson rooms, scanning them quickly without being spotted.
Jude isn’t in any of them, so Erim climbs the East Tower, where the oldest Neos have their classes. The door at the top is open, Erim slips in silently. All the doors in the Minor House are thick, sitting on chunky black hinges that squeal when moved. He learned very young that for stealth, the doors can’t be touched.
Caretaker Nuella’s voice magnifies as he enters the room. She’s standing at the front of the class before the three wide-eyed Neos watching her from the carpet. Erim can recognize little Gale from her hair, a matte of thick black curls that have gotten longer since he last saw her. All the Neophyte hair has gotten longer; it’s their defining feature. Erim can still remember the feeling of it on his shoulders. Hair is only permitted to be cut when one becomes a Soul Keeper or a Caretaker. Caretakers wear their hair short, close to their heads. Soul Keepers may choose.
As Erim leans against the back wall, Nuella slips him a wink. “… and people are becoming less and less accustomed to empathy. So, it is the job of each one of you to restore their faith in understanding and kindness.” She beams down at them. “When you model this, you can help others grow in compassion too. Yes?” The children nod. “Good.” Caretaker Nuella claps, waking a student who had nodded off. “Come, we have a nursery lesson today before second meal.” The children rise, whispering excitedly amongst themselves.
Gale’s eyes widen when she sees Erim, and she flings herself at him, squealing with joy. He grunts as she slams into him with a force much larger than her petite body. “Oof—not so little anymore, huh, Nightingale?” The others follow, crowding around him, exclaiming with joy.
“Dear Erim.” Nuella smiles as she wades through the children to hug him. She looks the same as she always has, short hair combed down neatly around her ears, warm black eyes, and a knowing smile. He used to have to reach up to embrace her. Now he must bend down. “It’s been a long while since your brother honored us with a visit,” Caretaker Nuella tells the children, though Erim knows the hint is meant for him.
Gale squeezes Erim and looks up at him with her big black eyes. “Will you come to see our new brothers and sisters, Erim? Will you? Pleeeeeease?”
Caretaker Nuella shoots him an expectant look, one that forces the best out of him. “Alright,” he agrees, patting Gale’s back, “just for a moment.”
She takes his hand and pulls him down the stairs. At the bottom, the children take flight towards the nursery. Gale gets caught up in the excitement and abandons Erim to chase after them. A flicker of blue glints at Erim’s eye, one of the wide shallow pools in the courtyard that he used to splash around in.
When they get to the nursery, the Caretakers shush the Neos, so they don’t wake the babies. Caretaker Nuella stands beside Erim, watching fondly from the doorway as each child is handed a baby to hold.
“I was sorry to hear about what’s going on out there,” Caretaker Nuella says. Erim nods but doesn’t want to talk about it. She must be able to tell because she redirec
ts immediately. “Have you seen Jude yet?”
“Thought he’d be here,” Erim says.
“No.” Nuella shakes her head and clicks her tongue. “He assists in the Prime and Elder Houses now. I think he never felt fulfilled here.”
Erim sighs. “You and I both know he won’t be happy there either.”
Nuella doesn’t answer. Of course, she knows that. “It’s just as well.” She grins. “He annoyed the Neophytes terribly with his strictness about the rules.” That sounds like Jude; always following the rules, always knowing the right way, always saying the perfect thing. Erim takes a long breath. “You did not ask to be chosen, Erim,” Nuella says, putting her hand on his arm. She’s always been able to tell what Erim was thinking, no doubt the result of raising so many children. “Even if you had, it wouldn’t have mattered. Your ascent was—”
“Part of the plan.” Erim gives her a weak nod.
“Ah, so some of your lessons did rub off.” Nuella smiles. “I never would’ve guessed.”
“Look at our new sister.” Gale presents one of the babies to Erim, bobbing her gently. The baby coos softly, stretching out a chubby arm.
“You’re good with her,” Erim says.
“The way Erim was good with you when you were a baby.” Nuella strokes Gale’s head. Erim can still remember the feeling of Gale’s weight when she was placed in his arms like that. She was such a small thing but so heavy. He wanted to put her down for fear of dropping her.
“Caretaker Nuella says I’m moving to the Prime House soon.” Gale smiles proudly.
Something tightens in Erim’s chest, a heat ignites in his hands. “I should get going.”
Nuella reaches out and grabs his hand. “Your brother loves you no less.” Her eyes are pleading with Erim the way they used to when she hated seeing him upset as a boy. He gives her a peck on the cheek, winks at Gale, and departs.
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