The waves were gentle, luckily, and swimming to the nearest beach wasn’t too difficult. It felt good to use his muscles, to stretch his legs, to be anywhere but that cold, dark cell. He kept a steady stream of ceral energy burning inside him, not bothering to break anything in particular, but for the sense of energy and strength it provided. He was alive, and he was free. He was wet and cold and probably bruised from head to toe, but he was free.
As he walked up onto the beach, Josen dried his clothes—torn and ragged though they were—barely even giving the breaking a thought as he did. He needed to hurry to Kendai before Akelle did something stupid.
Chapter 39
It took Josen far more of the night to make his way to Kendai than he would have liked. He was obliged to pick a few pockets in order to pay for Passage, but the distance was actually fairly insignificant. Much more troublesome was his need to remain anonymous. Under any normal circumstance, throwing around his weight as a powerful clergy member would have made the whole trip far easier. As it was, drawing attention could only increase his chance of being found out—which would slow him down significantly.
Once in Kendai, Josen was surprised at how simple it was to obtain information on exactly where Akelle had gone looking for Tori.
“Hello,” Josen said, crouching down next to an ambitious beggar settling down in an alley near what had been a very busy street corner before the sun had set an hour ago. He dropped a few heavy coins into the woman’s cup, and she peered in at them, pleased. “I’m looking for a friend.”
“That’s good of you,” said the woman. “Oko likes friendly types. Oko likes coins. Friends ought to look after other friends, if friends is what they want to be.” She smiled a broad, toothless grin.
Josen dropped another pair of coins into Oko’s cup. He knew how this sort of thing worked.
“Good, good,” Oko said, wetting her lips. “You’re a fine friend, Oko says. What kind of friend is it you’re looking for?”
“A teenage boy, medium height,” Josen said. “Kendai born like yourself. He was likely asking questions about the local rub runners, maybe even about a camp east of the city.”
Oko’s eyes went dark and guarded, her frail old body suddenly tense. “Oko doesn’t know anything about the rub camp in the jungle,” she said, then her voice dropped to a whisper. “Oko likes living.”
“I just need to know how to find it.” Josen tried to drop another few coins into the woman’s cup, but Oko snatched it away, hissing.
“Oko doesn’t know!” she said, gathering up her sparse belongings. “Trouble in the jungle is a hungry beast! It eats young men. Swallows them whole.” She slung her pack over a bony shoulder and began to totter away, calling back as she did. “If your friend was foolish enough to go looking for trouble in the jungle, then trouble has already eaten him.”
Josen knew better than to go after her. She had told him what she would. Harassing her wouldn’t get him any more information.
Two more conversations with another beggar and a rub addict proved similarly enlightening and unspecific. That there was a rub camp in the jungle was something of an open secret. It was there, but it wasn’t the sort of thing people talked about, not if they wanted to live out the week. Josen considered approaching the local Ladies of the Archon—they would certainly be taking bribes to turn a blind eye to such an open secret—but Josen decided against it. It was unlikely that they would recognize him, but he couldn’t take the chance. If he was caught, the Ladies would keep a far closer eye on him, and any hope of a quiet escape would be out of the question.
So Josen waited at the eastern edge of the city and watched. He couldn’t just wander into the forest hoping to stumble onto the right trail, certainly not in the dark. The jungle occupying the eastern half of Kendai island was not nearly as large as the deciduous forests near Sefti or the pine forests in the mountains around Ceralon and Pomay, but it was large enough that Josen could wander it for days, maybe weeks, without ever stumbling upon the rub camp.
With more time, Josen could have maybe found people willing to talk in the city, but time was precious. He had two, maybe three days before even the intentionally inattentive guards at the Finger would notice that he was no longer eating his bread or drinking his water.
Then he would have to choose: go back to the prison and await his fate whatever it may be or run as a free man and leave his life as Josen Oak behind—his family, his Stewardship, Alia, all of it.
Forever. It was a choice Josen was surprised to find difficult. Not long ago, he would have chosen freedom in a heartbeat, without question. But Josen found he actually liked being a part of a family, liked being around people whom he trusted and cared for, and who cared for and believed in him in return. And he had spent nearly every waking moment for months working to keep them safe. Could he abandon them now?
Josen was shaken out of his thoughts by the sight of half a dozen torch-bearing men walking away from the city’s edge together. Each of the men wore a heavy pack strapped across their shoulders, all headed toward the jungle. Perfect. The rub camp would have to be resupplied on a fairly regular basis. Josen watched the lights disappear into the trees, and then ducked in after them, doing his best to stay close enough to follow without attracting undue attention.
The trail was narrow and difficult to follow, and Josen found it harder than he would have guessed to keep up with the men while still moving quietly. He was a thief, not a jungle cat. He had no torch of his own, and if he lost sight of his unwitting guides, he would have no choice but to spend the night alone in the jungle—a prospect he was not fond of, time restraints or no. Josen quickly gave up on the idea of stealth and ran forward.
“Hey!” he yelled. “Wait up!”
The men, none of them as young as Josen had assumed them to be, turned in alarm, several of them wielding short, wide-bladed machetes, sharp edges glinting in the torchlight. Six men eyed him warily as he slowed and stepped gingerly into the circle of light around the men. Their faces were dirty and hard, creased and worn in ways that told of hard lives lived. The expressions on their faces ranged from annoyed to alarmed, but no one looked on the verge of violence.
“You look lost,” one of the men said, stepping to the front of the group. He had a short, wispy beard and narrow brown eyes that looked tired. “Kendai is that way, not five minutes through the trees.”
“Not lost,” Josen said, raising his hands to show they were empty.
The man’s eyes narrowed.
“Best head back anyway,” he said. He glanced up and down Josen’s ragged form, as if looking for some kind of clue as to Josen’s intentions, then back to Josen’s face, perplexed. “Jungle’s no place for a man alone, not a place to wander about. Especially not at night.”
“Not wandering either,” Josen said. “Looking for work. I hear there’s work in the jungle.”
“Says who?” said another of the men, standing towards the back of the group. He adjusted his grip on the machete and glared at Josen.
“He didn’t give his name,” Josen said, “but he told me to ask for Riveran. Said Riveran has work in the jungle, as long as it’s the quiet, reliable sort of help.”
The man in the front stared at Josen for a long moment, considering. Finally, he nodded. “Quiet and reliable, as you say. You can come with us.”
“Long, we can’t vouch for him,” said the man in the back. “What do you think Epalli will—”
“Epalli can decide what to do with him, Jun,” Long said. Jun scowled and gritted his teeth, but Long ignored him. “You can come with us, but Epalli decides if you stay. If not…” A shadow of a grimace flashed across Long’s face before it settled back to wary, resigned detachment. “Better to turn back than face that fate. Your choice.”
Josen nodded once, and Long shrugged. “On the quick then,” Long said, turning away from Josen and breaking immediately into a jog. “We’re already late. We won’t wait if you fall behind.”
They jo
gged through the jungle for half an hour before Long slowed. Josen followed, trusting the men in front of him to know the way. The jungle was dense and heavy with exotic sounds hanging in the darkness just outside the circle of torchlight. Josen did his best to ignore it, to focus on the running and the ground at his feet. He had to increase his constant trickle of breaking energy to a steady flow to keep up, letting the soft ground beneath his feet break into something harder and more stable with each stride. He didn’t stop to think about what he was doing, just let his body do what it needed.
The power inside him was so vast that it seemed to need little direction from Josen, reacting to his body’s needs instinctively. Josen was afraid of what would happen if—when—that well of energy ran dry. He needed food and, likely, medical attention. He should have gotten food while he was in Kendai, but he had been so focused on the task at hand that it hadn’t even crossed his mind. He didn’t even feel hungry anymore. That seemed like a bad sign. Food would have to wait, though. He could last long enough to see if Akelle and Tori were at the rub camp. Then he would find food.
At the end of the half-hour jog, Josen thought he could see the trees give way to a clearing up ahead. Long looked back at Josen, the expression on his face surprised he managed to keep up.
“Nearly there,” Long said. “Stay close, and we will take you to… What are you doing?”
Josen was gathering vines. The grew everywhere in the jungle, dozens of feet long, and as thick around as his thumb. They would do nicely. He ignored Long’s question and continued, wrapping the vines carefully around his arms and torso, looping a few more around his neck and gathering one in each hand. The men watched Josen in confused silence at first, then with sidelong glances and concerned whispers. They probably thought he was crazy.
They were probably right.
“Gentlemen,” Josen said calmly as he coiled one last vine in his left hand, “I appreciate your bringing me this far. You’ve been downright helpful, and as a token of that appreciation, I’m going to suggest you run back the way we came. Right now.”
“Hey now,” one of the men said, taking a hesitant step toward Josen. “Just what do you think—”
Josen hit him. The vine on Josen’s left hand broke to steel just before impact, and the man dropped to the jungle dirt without a grunt, unconscious instantly. Josen felt sorry for half a heartbeat, but he didn’t have time to dwell on the feeling.
Three machetes lifted instantly, eyes wide in wonder, but only Jun was foolish enough to rush Josen, snarling contempt alight in his eyes.
Josen stepped forward to meet him, breaking the ground at his own feet into a loose, sloppy mud that stretched several feet toward Jun. Josen jumped back, but Jun crashed through mud up past his ankles without hesitation—until it reverted to stiff earth mid stride.
Jun’s momentum carried him forward even with one foot stuck firmly in the ground. His expression of anger turned to surprise, then agony as this ankle twisted and popped audibly before his foot tore free from the earth. Jun rolled on the ground, howling in agony as Josen picked up Jun’s forgotten machete, ignoring the openmouthed stares of the other four men. He broke the machete, felt it turn to smooth, cold glass in his hand. Jun cringed as Josen lifted the glittering glass machete high over his head and brought it down hard, the broad side cracking across the back of Jun’s head. The blade shattered, and Jun went limp.
“Leave,” Josen said, looking at Long. He let breaking energy swell through him, rage through his veins and across his skin. He let it bleed from every pore until the air around him seemed to shudder, almost glowing with unspent energy. “Take your men and go. Now.”
Long nodded. Two machetes fell from to the ground as the four remaining men hurried to gather their two unconscious fellows, and Josen stepped past them to the edge of the jungle.
He paused there for just a moment, overlooking the clearing. It wasn’t huge, but it was far larger than Josen had expected—easily a hundred acres cleared in a rough circle out of the jungle. He could make out several small buildings near the perimeter of the clearing—small barracks or large equipment sheds, likely—and two buildings in the center of the clearing, both clearly illuminated by regularly spaced lantern posts.
The jungle actually seemed to be getting lighter as well, if only fractionally.
Josen frowned. Unless he had entirely lost track of time, dawn shouldn’t come for another several hours yet. The light coming from the sliver of the moon hanging low in the sky was insignificant, and certainly shouldn’t be increasing…
Josen whirled to see a fire swelling to life on the forest floor behind him, growing fast. Then the shouting started.
Chapter 40
Josen ran, but he was too slow. A dozen or more dark shapes converged on him, resolving into wide-eyed men with faces full of alarm, at the edge of panicked violence. Their features flickered hauntingly in the light of the still-growing bonfire in the woods backlighting Josen.
“Whoa,” Josen said, slowing. “Slow down, gentlemen,” he said, raising his hands like he had when he first approached the men in the woods, hoping he could talk himself out of this somehow.
But the movement had the wrong effect. The nearest man started in surprise, recovered, and lunged at Josen, his own fists raised.
Josen ducked a wild punch, uncoiling a short vine as he did. The vine became a metal baton in his hand, and he swung mid duck. The man screamed as his knee cracked. Josen let the swing pull him into a forward roll, coming easily to his feet in waist-high grass.
He didn’t wait for anyone’s reaction. He sprinted toward the buildings at the center of the clearing. Men who had approaching him warily now began running as well, yelling for him to stop. He didn’t.
A pair of men loomed suddenly out of the darkness to Josen’s right, lunging to intercept him. Instead of running away, Josen pivoted and ran straight at them. One of the men raised a hoe, but Josen danced inside the reach of both men without slowing. He brushed their shirts with his fingertips as he passed. The men cried in surprise as their shirts turned rigid, trapping their movement from the waist up. One of the men stumbled and collapsed. Josen kept running.
Josen laughed aloud, thrilling in the energy rolling through him like waves on the ocean. He had never felt this much power, never imagined this much power existed. Had he really felt so weak only moments before? His body sung with energy now, and each step forward felt steady and powerful. His body was made of power, and the world was his plaything, obedient to his every whim.
Four more men drew close enough that Josen had pay them mind. The men yelled, various weapons raised, entirely unaware that their fury meant less than nothing to Josen, like buzzing of insects in the ears of a god.
Josen stopped and spun, arms outstretched, letting his hands brush the tall grass all around him, pushing the ceral energy out in a wave, breaking the grass stalks into glass in an expanding circle around him, glittering in the scant light of the thin moon above. The glass shattered and tore at the men as their momentum carried them several paces further before they could stop. One of the men stumbled and pitched headlong toward the glass field.
Josen stepped forward and caught the man, the grass around him to reverting back to its natural form as he did. The man stared wide eyed at Josen, mouth agape, pants shredded and legs bleeding from dozens of tiny cuts.
Josen grinned at him, then dropped him in the soft, reverted grass while the other three looked on, dumbfounded. He didn’t want to kill these men if he could help it. They were probably local men like Josen had pretended to be earlier that night, not hardened criminals—desperate men in need of work.
But Josen wouldn’t let anything keep him from his friends, not for anyone.
“Where are they?” he asked the man at his feet, staring up at Josen with and awe. “The boy and the woman. Where are they?”
“The b-boy?” the man asked, stuttering.
“Where?” Josen asked, putting as much menace into his vo
ice as he could manage. The short vine in his hand became shining, cold steel. He pressed it beneath the man’s chin.
“Epalli,” the man said. He pointed toward the smaller building in the center of the clearing, maybe fifty feet on a side. “Epalli keeps anyone we catch there. The woman’s been there for weeks.”
The rest of the grass reverted, and the three men who had been watching the exchange took off at a dead sprint back toward the jungle. Josen paid them no mind. He walked toward the central building the man had pointed out. More men were converging on him—men who hadn’t been close enough to get a clear view of Josen’s previous fights. Josen didn’t run any more. He shifted the vines on his arms, and grinned.
* * *
The lock rattled under Akelle’s frustrated hand, and his face curled in an enraged snarl, but the pins refused to give way no matter how he raked at them with his picks. He readjusted his crouch and kept trying. Starving hells, but this was usually Josen’s job. The starving idiot just had to go and get himself arrested, didn’t he? Right when Akelle needed him most.
“Tori,” he whispered again, again with no response. Akelle swore under his breath. Tori’s body lay curled in the little cage, less than four feet from corner to corner, maybe three feet high. He could see her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, but she hadn’t even stirred since he came into the room. She was too thin, her skin wan and sick looking. Her captor must have at least let her out occasionally. The tiny cell was relatively clean and lacked the distinct smell of human waste, but that did very little to cool Akelle’s rage.
She was in the smaller central building, as he guessed. It was some kind of a barracks, consisting of a large collective sleeping area, a few smaller private rooms, and a storage room off to one end. Tori’s cage was in the storage room, shoved in with barrels and piles of supplies.
The Broken Man Page 38