Keevan could see the thick, short, tangles of energy tying Ahmro to the stream beneath him. To the man's credit, his field did not sparkle with fear at the observation, nor glow in anger. While Keevan couldn't read the guard's facial expression, hidden in his cloudlike form, Keevan did notice the guard pocketing his book and leaning forward in ... interest. The utter lack of anger and fear on Ahmro's part quickly nullified Keevan's temper.
"My apologies, student Stratagar," Ahmro explained, his gravelly voice remarkably polite. "I should have considered the likely hood of Shiivel already running his mouth for you at the gate. My name is Ahmro, as you probably guessed, I'm from the Southern Tribes. It's a pleasure to meet you." He inclined his head and interlocked his fingers in salute.
"You as well, sir," Keevan echoed, returning the gesture. Nevin glanced back at Keevan in surprise.
"A word of advice," Ahmro offered, pulling his book back out. "If you're going to insult a man, you need a decent understanding of his values. Insulting my elemental abilities doesn't resonate much with me. Granted, it would do wonders on Shiivel, if you were looking for a fight."
"I'll keep that in mind," Keevan said.
"Think on it," Ahmro insisted, pointing at himself and then at Nevin. "Issamereans focus so much on the elements that their emotions tend to run away with them. Control a man's emotions and you control him. At that point, he's easy enough to deal with. Be he Etrendi or Rhetan."
"Not that we'd ever raise a hand against an Etrendi," Nevin insisted, his face paling slightly.
"No, of course not," Ahmro replied, with a smile that implied quite the opposite.
"I've never met a Tribesman before," Keevan said, taking a closer look at Ahmro's elemental field. After years of hearing about the war against the Southern Tribes and hearing Kors' and Bahjal's more personal connections to the conflict, Keevan was surprised that from the elemental plain Tribesman looked so similar to Issamereans. "What do you miss the most from home?"
"Home?" Ahmro asked, glancing at Keevan in surprise. "That's a question few Issamereans ask. Most are nervous around us and glad when we're gone, years of peace between our cultures notwithstanding. Honestly, we left home behind a long time ago. I suppose now, home is wherever we find a place to rest our feet."
"I guess I see everything a little differently than Tri-Beings do, and not just in the elemental sense," Keevan confessed, shrugging his shoulders. "I have a people out there somewhere, perhaps even a family I've never met."
"The Outlanders," Ahmro echoed, nodding in agreement. "It is a difficult thing, to sit alone in a crowded city and know how few there are who truly understand you. So very few."
Keevan nodded in agreement, thinking of Corvan. Somewhere among Issamere's many Districts, nooks and alcoves, another Outlander sat. A fountain of questions bubbled up in Keevan, which he shoved aside, as usual. There was so much to ask the Varadour, and so many reasons to avoid the outlaw entirely, if the opportunity ever did arise.
"Well, I've got to finish my patrol before noon," Keevan sighed, interlocking his fingers in salute as he nodded farewell. "You're all doing a fine job. Keep up the good work."
"Same to you," Ahmro replied, waving in farewell from his chair.
Nevin led them along the winding paths back toward the front gate. A fresh round of Rhetans now picked the trees with the same hooked poles from before, muttering curses whenever they cut a bough by mistake or failed to catch their falling prize out of the air. A few little children, wearing tattered rags and carefree smiles, darted in and claimed the raw, fallen fruits. An Issamerean tradition for feeding the orphans of the city.
"Do you think Ahmro could be taken by surprise at the catacomb entrance?" Keevan asked, stepping under an apple tree's low hanging limbs. The small, green fruits were so far from ripe that they bounced and rolled across the ground like stones.
"Not likely," Nevin insisted, "He's the best scout I've ever seen, very alert."
"But he's reading," Keevan pointed out. "I know, when I'm tied up in a good book, I've missed dinner a time or two."
"It's a trap," Nevin explained, watching a pair of Rhetan children kick a stone back and forth between them. "Ahmro can't read a word to save his life. But he's well-armed and even better trained. Trust me, there's a reason he's guarding the catacombs and Shiivel and I are working the gate."
"Armed?" Keevan asked hesitantly, "How so? I didn't see anything on him? You're not talking about his elemental powers are you?"
"Nope," Nevin answered evenly, but he refused to expound further.
Keevan left the garden with a poorly hidden snarl from Shiivel. The guard opened his mouth for one final insult, but the rush of anxious Rhetans trying to enter the garden at once forced him back to his duties. Keevan sighed in relief with each step farther from the garden, for the Rhetans' attentions were solely fixed on the gate standing between them and their daily sustenance.
Further into the Forger's District, Keevan did not find any additional comfort. Smithies and artisans stooped over their work, heat and moisture surging around them in a familiar rhythm, but with greater intensity than usual. Hammers rang out against anvils, accompanied by seething anger and profanity. Apprentices scurried out of the wakes of their masters, burly artisans blustering over one mishap or another.
Keevan hurried to a nearby alley. Better to avoid using his elemental vision in full view of the public, just in case. As the street slipped into the elemental plane before Keevan's eyes, he grit his teeth in frustration. This time of day, most city streets required added warmth to keep the populace's thoughts from chilly despair.
The acolytes over the Forger's District were doing just that, blanketing the streets with additional, subtle, warmth. Over time, the local artisans would gradually absorb the excess heat, on top of their usual temperatures, until the excess built up into blind anger. Most Tri-Beings would feel the sudden rush of anger caused by a nearby fire, and recognize the feelings as foreign. The Dancia globes allowed a slow, steady buildup of faint heat, much more difficult for a Tri-Being to detect and much more deadly, if given time to fester.
Someone was trying to burn the Forger's District into a full on riot.
Up at the roof of a nearby forge, Keevan saw the source of the District's extra heat. Two pale faced acolytes peered down at him. Though the Danica globe next to them glowed with their combined wills, if they knew the effect their efforts were having on the District, they thoroughly buried their guilt behind the youthful awe of seeing Keevan's glowing eyes first hand.
Hurrying up the building's rear stairs, Keevan arrived out of breath. The acolytes, one Suadan and one Beletokan, sat facing each other across a cheap cedar table. Empty plates, open books, and pages of hand written notes marked the routine in their morning duties. They glanced at each other uncertainly, then back at Keevan, shifting clouds before his elemental vision.
"You're our Persuader?" The Suadan asked, marked by his strong connection to the moisture in the surrounding area. His added moisture combined with the Beletokan's heat, forcing the artisans below to center all their concentration on the sources of their anger. "You're the..."
"Sight Seeker, yes," Keevan cut in, pointing at the globe protruding from the table. "And by order of the Malik I'm ordering a stop to this."
"To what?" The Beletokan echoed, fumbling nervously through his pages of notes. His cloud-like frame sparked with a sudden spurt of electricity. "We're just working on our studies?"
"I told you it was a stupid idea," The Suadan snapped. "Sight Seekers can read secrets from your mind. Moron."
"You're the one who stole the test answers!" The Beletokan replied, slamming his fist on the table. The betrayed student's anger flashed through the globe and rippled through the District below, followed by groans of frustration and the all-too-loud slamming of angry hammers on anvils. In a passing thought, Keevan realized why the orbs didn't amplify electricity as well. That unstable element would easily shatter the glass-fused globes.
> "I don't care if you're cheating! You two are burning out the District!" Keevan shouted, "Calm down, right now!" They both stared at him stupidly for a moment.
"That's what this is about?" The Suadan asked, the fear fading as he pulled a scroll from the bundle of pages. "We're following our elemental orders. I'm supposed to maintain moisture levels so the artisans and passerby can stay calm."
"And I'm supposed to counter the morning chill until noon," The Beletokan chimed in.
"They work in smithies all day," Keevan spat back, pointing at the forges below them. "They're already full of steam and heat. What they need is someone to vent the excess elements away from the forges, so the elements don't build up."
The acolytes paused, glancing over the wall at the scampering apprentices and angry artisans. "Oh, they aren't always this angry?" The Suadan asked sheepishly. His hold on the elements weakened as shame took hold, an emotion with no elemental root.
"As of now, you're orders have changed," Keevan said decisively. Pointing at the Suadan, "your job now is to stay bored, the last thing the artisans down there need is more moisture, and you," He turned on the Beletokan, "For the love of Suada, please think of something sad. If this district gets any hotter, we'll have a riot on our hands. Have you ever seen what a smithy's hammer can do to a man's head?"
"No," The Beletokan answered numbly.
"They smash metal into place on a daily basis," Keevan answered, watching their elements slowly bend into the proper place as the acolytes organized their thoughts and emotions. "I guarantee your head is softer than one of those anvils down there."
Once the acolytes put their emotions in check, Keevan watched the Forger's District from above. The bundles of heat around each forge, once trapped and gradually escalating, were slowly oozing away. Once the heat rose a dozen feet or so above the rooftops, the breeze carried the excess one way or another, pulled in by the fields of other acolytes.
Keevan looked out over Issamere's lower districts, trying to cut through the tangle of one hundred Dancia globes blanketing the city. Reading the city's elements was much easier when he was looking down on Issamere's eastern quarter from the steam gardens above, where he could clearly differentiate between each enhanced elemental field. From here, the view of tangled fields felt like trying to read the emotional mindset of an entire crowd at once.
He could get the general tone though. The majority were using boredom to force the sea's excess moisture into the city's canals and anger to counter the morning chill. He realized that the same orders the Beletokan acolytes received for the Forger's district, to contain the heat, would benefit the other Issamerean Districts just fine.
Were the flawed commands a honest mistake, then? Did a priest accidentally send a typical elemental order to the Forger's District? Or did someone else have a hand in this, trying to incite a riot? A shiver of fear nibbled at Keevan's heart. If he'd been an hour later to these acolytes, if he'd stayed to talk with Bahjal or eat at the garden, he might not have reached the Forger's District in time.
Perhaps it was a test, and some noble wanted to see what problems Keevan could solve. Whatever the case, someone was pulling strings from the shadows, and risking Tri-Being lives in the process. Keevan clenched his fists and grit his teeth. He hated the feeling of some shadowy figure playing with Issamere's well-being from a safe distance, leaving Keevan in the thick of the chaos to clean up the mess.
Not to mention, his parents lived two streets down. Whoever set this in motion was willing to throw Nariem and Masha into a rage-induced riot. That alone, was motivation enough for Keevan to investigate further. He needed to run the situation by Masha. As devoted a father as Nariem was, he didn't have her gift for understanding the motivations and veiled threats of the Etrendi.
"Once noon hits," Keevan advised the acolytes, "You may need to increase the despair further to counter the sun's heat. Moisture wise, they should be alright. Keep an eye on Morose's forge," Keevan suggested, pointing down and to their right. "He's very level headed, never shouts during work, especially at his apprentices. If he's angry, then you need to pull away more heat."
"Got it," The Beletokan agreed.
Keevan released his elemental vision, seeing the acolytes' faces and clothes for the first time. The Suadan was a tall, lanky boy whose gaunt frame suggested a lack of meat in his diet. They sometimes fasted from repeated meals to test one's ability to stay at peace, despite distractions like hunger and fatigue. The Beletokan was a short but stocky boy with calloused hands from constant work. The followers of Beletok often used physical activity to manage their anger.
"Thank you for your service," Keevan said, "Keep to my advice and you'll do fine here."
"Thank you, Sight Seeker," The acolytes nodded, holding interlocked fingers to their chest. "United we stand."
"United we stand," Keevan echoed, mirroring the salute, though he was careful not to bow as deeply as they. The acolytes wouldn't have cared, but the Etrendi, particularly Master Hadrian, was very touchy about offering just the right amount of respect. Keevan left the building by the back stair, deciding to swing by his home in hopes of finding Masha. Managing Issamerean politics was not one of his strong suits.
Even as he worked his way down the street, the effects of the acolytes' shifting emotions were visible on the faces of the apprentices and artisans he passed. Tempers faded as the people settled back into the slow, dedicated pace typical of most blacksmiths. With their masters' anger fading, their apprentices' fears calmed and their work improved as well. The Forger's District felt more like home, and less like a fire-enhanced piece of Danica about to explode.
Smoke rose from their forge, a sign Nariem was hard on work on another project. Keevan touched the bag at his belt, considering how the Danica powder could prove useful in the future. Finding the door locked, he fished a key from his pocket and let himself in. The warm, comforting scent of freshly baked bread welcomed him like the arms of a long lost love. The food at the Persuader Academy mimicked a soldier's rations, perhaps another reason he didn't know of the famine along Issamere's borders.
"Mother, I'm home," Keevan called.
"Keeves?" Masha asked in surprise, poking her head around the corner. She wore an apron, spattered with flour and dry dough. "Don't you have training in an hour? What are you doing here?"
"I need some advice," Keevan said, setting his bag on the dining room table. "Someone tried to burn out our District today. They changed the orders so the acolytes would trap the heat and moisture. Another hour and this place would have turned to rioting."
"I thought something felt off," Masha nodded, "that's why I locked the front door. Should we check on Nariem?"
"No, he's fine. I got there in time to set them straight," Keevan answered, noticing the heap of honey glazed biscuits in a bowl on the counter. His stomach rumbled audibly.
"Here you go," Masha offered with a knowing smile, handing him a biscuit. "Just one though. I'm giving these to a Rhetan family down the street."
"What's the catch?" Keevan asked, savoring a big bite of biscuit. The honey glaze was mixed with butter, making the heavenly substance all the more creamy. He sighed contently.
"Catch?" Masha asked, offering an innocent shrug. "What do you mean?"
"Issamere is facing famine. Rather than spend the day with the Suadans, you're here cooking away our flour," Keevan noted, taping on the counter knowingly. He failed to mention that despite the increased heat from the oven, Masha didn't appear angry at all. Which meant she was feeling pretty sad, countering icy depression with warmth. "What's really going on?"
Masha smiled. "It seems they're teaching you something after all. The Persuader Academy has some of the best soldiers and spies in Issamere teaching there."
Keevan shrugged, "Mostly, we just learn to ask 'why' a lot."
"Well, to answer your question," Masha said, picking up a rag and wiping sticky dough from her hands. "Until we get enough relief to the Rhetans, there's a chance of things
turning ugly. Hungry people take risks and anger easily, especially if they have a family they're responsible for. I promised Jorgen a batch of biscuits a week if, when things go bad, he's ready to smuggle us out of the city as fellow Rhetans."
"That seems a little extreme," Keevan said numbly, "unless there's already been threats on Etrendi lives I don't know about."
"Part of being a Persuader, or an Etrendi for that matter, is about anticipating where things are going," Masha replied, scooping up fragments of unused dough and returning them to a small bowl on the counter. "When the Great Crystal fell, the city was left very vulnerable to elemental attack. The rebel, Zerik, would be a fool not to take advantage and Issamere is a large city. Protecting all the people at all the time is no easy feat."
"So we have an escape plan, should the worst happen," Keevan summarized. While imagining the situation in Issamere getting so dangerous as to warrant fleeing felt very disturbing, he couldn't deny the gratitude he felt at having such an insightful, or perhaps paranoid, mother.
"Which leaves us with the mishap with the acolytes," Masha continued, wrapping a towel over the bowl of dough and setting the thick batter aside. "Get us a couple chairs. I've another batch in the oven."
They sat facing each other in the narrow kitchen. Masha opened the back door a crack, letting a cool breeze into the stuffy room. She rubbed a small clump of dried dough from her cheek, only to leave a patch of flour in its wake, left behind from the sleeve of her blouse.
"I don't think the acolytes getting bad orders was an accident," Keevan admitted.
"I agree," Masha echoed, gazing out the alley-facing window as she spoke. "No matter who's in charge, the area patrolled by the only Sight Seeker in Issamere will be given more attention than the rest. Enough to make such mistakes unlikely. As you said, the situation could have broken into a riot. That would have brought the Malik's wrath down on whoever was in charge of sending the orders."
"You don't think the Malik did it, to test me?" Keevan asked.
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