"No, no, no," Bahjal hissed, her heart thumped angrily in her chest. "You can't be serious! You really think the Malik would stoop so low?"
"Honestly, I don't know," Persuader Madol admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "But even if all Masha and Nariem will face is a riot, they'll still need your help. I've seen you calm other Tri-Beings at will, without them realizing it. Perfect for dealing with a crowd of angry Rhetans."
"Why are you doing this?" Bahjal asked, squeezing the Persuader's arm. "Won't the Malik punish you for countermanding his orders?"
"I'm just telling you the facts. After all, he might not be Malik much longer," Madol grunted, getting to his feet. The scribes were suddenly extra busy, practically diving into their books. "What you do with them is your business. Good night, De-Sarthan, and good luck."
"Good night," Bahjal replied, pursing her lips. She considered calling him back, asking him more questions, but they still had the prying eyes of the scribes to consider. Surely one of them would report back to Malik Morgra. The fewer details they could deliver, the better.
Bahjal sat quietly for the next hour, watching the candles melt shorter and shorter. She didn't open her books, or take any additional notes. She leaned back in her chair, running her fingers through her hair. Finally, she sighed and gathered her notes into a single stack. Tying the pages together with a bit of string, she extinguished the candles and left the table.
One scribe in particular watched the scene unfold, sketching a page full of notes with his quill. His eyes never scanned the book lying before him, nor did he ever turn a single page. His attentions were focused on the living, after all, not dusty records.
Chapter 16
Keevan awoke to the sweet smells of vegetable stew and a chopped apple. He rolled weakly onto his side, facing the breakfast tray now set alongside the bed. Just that simply motion sent tremors of pain through his body. Everything hurt. His arms, chest, abdomen (of course) and even his legs.
"Take it easy," Corvan said, closing his book and setting the thick tome onto the table, next to his own empty breakfast tray. The adjacent window showered him in golden light. "You should foods that are tough to digest, for a while. Stick to grains and fruits until your intestines recover. You didn't pass out like I expected. After all that thrashing, your whole body must hurt."
"That's putting it mildly," Keevan groaned, sitting up. The room wobbled around him dizzily. He clutched his head until a lightheaded sensation passed. Despite his pain and fatigue, his appetite begged him to dive into the vegetable soup. The very thought sent a wave of guilt running through him. Half of Issamere starved, all because he'd touched the Great Crystal with a repulsor orb. Why did he deserve so hearty a full meal?
"Why am I so hungry?" Keevan asked, glaring at the tray. "Usually when I'm sick, it takes a week get my appetite back."
"My power doesn't do the healing, your body does," Corvan explained, lazily pushing around a few crumbs on his plate with his forefinger. "I allowed your body to heal faster than normal, using your own fat stores. You burned at least a week's worth of nutrients in that healing session, a tricky mess.
"How'd. You. Do. It?" Keevan asked, pausing in between ravenous mouthfuls. There was something about severe hunger that made food taste so much better. He closed his eyes and savored a spoon full of boiled potatoes. The herbs and spices steeped into the stew left a long and pleasing aftertaste on his tongue.
"Well, I had to direct certain parts of your body to heal and others not, so I could wrap the dead tissue around the Danica grains," Corvan cupped his hands together, as if rolling an imaginary ball between his palms. "That contained the worst of it. Then we just had to wait for nature to take its course. What goes in must come out, if you get my meaning."
"Ugh," Keevan grunted. With food settling in his stomach, his pace slowed. He adjusted his pillows so he could lean on his side while he ate, picking from the tray standing alongside the bed. "That was... uncomfortable."
"If you're going to mess with those powders again," Corvan suggested, putting one hand over his mouth, "I'd suggest putting some kind of a fabric over your mouth and nose. It might make breathing cumbersome at times, but it's far better than cooking from the inside out."
"Agreed," Keevan echoed. "Is everything alright in Issamere?"
"Honestly, I have no idea," Corvan shrugged. "I just woke up, myself. I haven't pushed my healing gland that far in at least a year."
"Your healing gland?" Keevan asked.
"A Varadour's power is secreted from glands around his heart," Corvan explained, patting his chest. "With training, you learn to contract the desired gland for the desired effect. Once the secretions hit the blood stream, they activate."
"The legends never do describe the anatomy of Varadours," Keevan sighed, shaking his head.
"It's easier to fear what you don't understand," Corvan observed, glancing out the window across the room from them. "The Harbor Guild's been taking advantage of the Tri-Beings' fear of our kind for centuries. I wouldn't be surprised if one of their agents 'adjusted' the ancient records, to encourage fear and hate among the populace."
"It wouldn't surprise me," Keevan admitted, finally noticing the cup of buttermilk alongside the plate. He savored a long draught before continuing, the thick sweet liquid felt divine against his dry throat. "I've been digging around Issamere's libraries for years, and I've found nothing about how Sight Seekers trained or further developed their abilities."
"Oh, I'm sure they exist," Corvan insisted, smirking, "The Harbor Guild couldn't have destroyed all the copies, but whoever has the hidden ones tucked away hasn't decided to share them with you yet."
Keevan watched Corvan, brow furrowed. "You think so?"
"Of course," Corvan said, pointing at Keevan's clothes. "You're wearing Persuader armor, aren't you? Announcing your full support to the Malik was a wise move, at least in the short term, but he doesn't strike me as the type to treasure books on Outlander abilities. Well, before you showed up, at least."
"I didn't choose the Malik, I chose to be a Persuader," Keevan corrected glumly, taking another bite of stew.
"Why?" Corvan asked, flexing his bicep. "You don't have the strength that comes easy to other men, not to mention a certain elemental lacking when compared to even the weakest Rhetan. Why become a Persuader?"
"To learn to protect myself and my family," Keevan admitted glumly, staring at his breakfast. He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself. "Lately though, my Persuader training has not done much for me. Perhaps I'll have to stay like this, a vulnerable boy constantly in need of protecting. I feel like I'm made of glass and these Tri-Beings could shatter me at will."
"Yes, a Tri-Being could have handled breathing in the powder," Corvan agreed, "The elemental powder is potent stuff. Danica, you said?"
"I'm not sure how Nariem made it," Keevan offered evenly. He glanced at Corvan suspiciously, recalling Persuader Madol's advice on keeping the weaponized refuse a secret. "Where are we, exactly?"
"We are half-a-day's walk from the city," Corvan answered, making a walking gesture with his first two fingers. "A friend of a friend owns this place and bought a room for you to lay low. I couldn't very well take care of you in Issamere. Too many interested parties sniffing around."
"Is that it?" Keevan asked, a dangerous edge to his tone. "I heard the driver's response when you showed up with me. They were expecting to cart me away. You arranged a kidnapping."
"Kidnapping is an extreme choice of words," Corvan said, shifting uneasily in his seat. "When you are well enough to ride, we'll return you to your Tri-Being parents, if you wish. We just wanted you to hear a proposition, first."
"One I couldn't hear in Issamere?" Keevan pointed out.
"No," A man said, as he entered the room.
Keevan recognized the business-like wagon driver's voice. He carried a small book in one hand and a quill in the other. His clothes were typical of a well-to-do Rhetan, but he carried himself like an Etrendi.
There was something familiar in his face was well, in the way he watched Keevan with calculated caution. Like a trainer dealing with a young, untamed lion.
Curious, Keevan examined him through the elemental plane. The newcomer's frame lit up in the cloud-like form of a Tri-Being, but his elemental field extended outside the room in every direction. Keevan licked his lips, trying to understand the paradox of an Etrendi living among Rhetans.
"You're an Etrendi," Keevan said. "You look familiar. Despite the beard."
Corvan spun in his seat, hands immediately snapping to his knife and fork. Keevan jerked back from the elemental plane, to clearly see the Tri-Being's reaction and facial expression. The newcomer jumped in surprise, dropping his book as he raised his hands defensively. "Oh, by Suada's mercy, calm down Corvan. If I meant you harm, I'd have struck while you were sleeping."
"Apologies," Corvan offered, after a tense moment of silence. "I assumed you were a Rhetan. Took me off guard, is all."
"I should have expected your reaction," The Tri-Being said, bowing apologetically. He pulled a spare chair over from the far wall, stroking his thick black beard as he sat down. "That's an interesting gift you have there, Keevan. A pity you haven't learned how to better harness it."
"You were eavesdropping," Keevan said matter-of-factly.
"I'm highly curious, I admit," The Tri-Being said with a shrug. "A costly habit, to be sure, but profitable also, in many ways."
"Who are you?" Keevan asked.
"This is a merchant that I met when I was fighting for..." Corvan's voice trailed off, then he slapped his forehead. "Not an accident, was it?"
"No, I'm afraid not," The Tri-Being said, chuckling. When he saw Keevan's confused expression, he went on. "When Corvan first escaped, I put together a large fighting contest throughout the Rhetan District. I knew Corvan was short on gold and friends. Also, he could hide among Rhetans rather easily. It didn't take much to identify him from the long list of contenders. He recovered too quickly from each hit."
"Yet, you didn't turn me over to the Malik," Corvan recalled, returning the silverware to his tray. "Why?"
"Well, just because I found you, doesn't mean we could contain you," The Tri-Being said with a wide grin. "Also, the people of Issamere aren't on the best terms with me. I doubt the Malik and his Persuaders would take anything I said seriously. Other than my location of course, to arrest me."
"Why?" Keevan asked, "Who are you?"
"Me?" The Tri-Being asked, feigning injury. He pulled an orb from his pocket, tossing the smooth crimson stone to Keevan. "You haven't figured it out?"
One glance through the elemental plane revealed the orb's true nature, along with the sudden chill pinpricking down Keevan's arm once he touched the smooth stone. "This is a fire-repulsor orb." He said in awe, pulling a similar orb from his pocket. "You... you're the one you left the water-repulsor orb at the Arnadi mansion for me to find."
The Tri-Being smiled. "I was confident your elemental plane would reveal repulsor and Danica metals with ease. You used it well. Or so I've heard, foiling Zerik's plans at the Suadan tower."
"That depends on who you ask," Keevan said, shaking his head. "I used my orb to damage the Great Crystal."
"I know," The Tri-Being said grimly. "I'm familiar with the burdens of guilt and remorse."
"What's your name?" Keevan asked. "Have I heard of you?"
"Yes, I'm sure you have," The Tri-Being said. He sighed deeply, then faced Keevan with a nervous gulp. "I'm Touric Paverone. Masha's brother. Technically, I'm your uncle."
The realization settled around Keevan's mind like an icy wind as he tried to reconcile the shadowy creature from his mother's stories, with the bumbling Etrendi merchant. Now he knew why the eyes stuck out, Touric had the same inquisitive gaze Masha turned on Keevan whenever she was irritated or concerned.
"No, you're exiled..." Keevan muttered, dumfounded by the mild-mannered Etrendi. Masha described her brother as the picture of Etrendi society, willing to put countless Rhetans to death if it meant preserving his precious image. A stark contrast from the dusty merchant standing before Keevan now. "How can you even set foot near Issamere safely?"
"Well, after fifteen years and an added beard, it provides a certain bit of camouflage," Touric offered, stroking the bristles on his chin. "Although, I'll admit, some Etrendi have very long memories."
"Like my mother," Keevan roared. He tried to throw his cup at the Etrendi, but his stomach muscles spasmed from the movement, forcing him to curl into a whimpering ball of pain. Gasping for air, he managed to cry, "Corvan, throw him out! Or kill him. I don't care. Pick one."
Corvan glanced at Keevan in surprise. "I'm sensing a history here."
"Yes, one of the biggest reasons for my exile," Touric shrugged, unrepentant. "But, honestly Keevan, you should be thanking me. For the love of Raejin, you owe me."
"For making my mother barren? All to protect your precious bloodline? Nariem's a better man and father than you could ever be," Keevan ranted. He pushed his tray aside and got to his feet, too angry to realize his wiry frame, dressed in only his small clothes, was less than intimidating. He grit his teeth against the ache that filled his abdomen at the sudden movement. "You're insane. Why, for all the Gods beneath the sky, should I thank you for that?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Touric replied, feigning confusion. "You're a smart lad, figure it out. If Nariem and Masha were capable of having children themselves, when you were discovered..." He let his words hang there, like a blade waiting to fall.
Keevan paused, a dark feeling settling in his gut as the idea took root. "They wanted a child, but couldn't have one," He grunted, numb with Touric's implications.
"Masha and Nariem's political and economic situation made them the perfect couple to adopt you, without inspiring the wrath of the guilds or the towers. They live on politically neutral ground. No other couples at the time were in so ideal a position to raise you." Touric reminded them, leaning back in his chair. "More likely, if Nariem and Masha already had children, the Malik would have had no choice but to give Keevan to the Harbor Guild for study. What would that be like, Corvan?"
Corvan's pale face and flushed skin glistened in the light of the afternoon sun. He gulped nervously and looked away, his gaze haunted by not-so-distant memories. Keevan shuddered. After seeing Corvan's abilities put to use against the Harbor Guild and in the Catacombs, Keevan truly didn't want to know what would make this powerful Varadour shudder in fear.
"You owe me," Touric repeated, leaning forward, eyes intent. Suddenly, Keevan felt like this Etrendi could somehow guess his thoughts, as if he held Sight Seeker powers of his own. "But, I'm not without compassion. You are looking for Zerik's final weapon to use against Issamere, am I right?"
Keevan sat back on the bed, taken aback. "How would you know about that?"
"Just because I'm exiled from Issamere, doesn't mean I want to see it burn," Touric insisted, waving his hand westward, toward the city.
Keevan shifted into the elemental plane, watching in quiet unease as he read Touric's emotional mindset. Strands of energy connected the Etrendi to the heat and moisture of the guest room, but even as he watched Keevan's power manifest, not a breath of electric unease manifested on his cloudy frame.
"No, you want to see it under Zerik's control," Keevan countered, "I know my history. You sided with him before your exile. Another reason the Malik kicked you out of the city."
"It's true, I did. Back when Zerik was a different man, reserved, a master strategist," Touric admitted, a touch of regret on his tongue. The heat around him did not respond to Keevan's attempt to goad the Etrendi into anger, instead, the warmth diminished a few degrees. "But we've stayed in touch over the years. I can honestly say he hasn't survived exile as I have. His hate borders on madness and now he lacks the foresight necessary for true leadership. He thinks of nothing else but taking his revenge and reclaiming his throne, not even what will happen after. I don't want to see my fellow Etrendi cast in
to the kind of world Zerik's reign would create."
"Right, you must protect your precious Etrendi. Why care about the thousands of Rhetans and Haustrans trying to live out their lives? They're the reason I'm fighting against Zerik. What do you know about his plans?" Keevan asked, watching his uncle for any sign of unease or anger. Something in Touric's elemental connection didn't sit well with Keevan, but he couldn't put his finger on the reason why.
"The Etrendi have always stood apart from the lowborn. That is the way the world should remain. As to Zerik, I know little more than you," Touric admitted. The heat and electricity around him lay perfectly still, without the slightest twinge to suggest deception. "I don't know who's financing his rebellion, but they have very deep pockets. Zerik and I are not as close as we used to be. Once Zerik started killing Etrendi to get to the Malik, we stopped talking. But I do have a few agents watching his. As it turns out, he sent a large shipment of gold to the Akantran Performers, a band of acrobats and entertainers. He paid them enough for most to retire. Yet, they are currently on their way to the East Gate, to work for their usual pittance. Suspicious, I'd say. What do you think?"
Keevan glanced at Corvan, who shrugged uncertainly. "So, Zerik will strike soon," Keevan surmised.
"Judging by the size of the last payment he sent, yes," Touric reported. "But I have agents watching them, ready to warn the Malik when Zerik makes his move. The city will be fine, I assure you. I've actually brought you here for another reason entirely. I want to make you two an offer."
Corvan licked his lips nervously, glancing from Touric to Keevan. But he said nothing.
"What is it?" Keevan asked suspiciously.
"I've secured a vessel of sorts, used before the Age of Tears, to travel from one continent to the next," Touric said with a confident grin. "It's a small thing. It will only carry a couple people and some supplies, but the craft can carry you home. I'd stake my life on it."
"That's insane," Keevan countered, shaking his head. "The Harbor Guild watches the ocean like starving dogs after the very last steak. They'd see us for sure."
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