Arielle nodded along with the rest, even though it meant nothing to her. She had never mastered the art of a map or the reading of great books. Whenever she stared intently at the printed works, some numbers and letters appeared to leap into different places, and it made her head spin. Her gifts were the reading of faces—and sometimes using a cleaver.
“We will split up into three and meet up in the town of Vahr in the Blood Red Assassin inn. I will ride on alone first. I know the road. Better we don’t appear as a group of mercenaries seeking Mallum.” Denan eyed his listeners anxiously. “Iaculous will travel with Arielle at noon. Eralorien shall escort the lovely Cherrie a few hours after noon. As a grandfather and doting granddaughter,” he said before rolling the map back up.
Eralorien eyed him for a few moments but said nothing. Arielle thought this interesting enough. She had expected another outburst, but instead, the old healer merely nodded. Perhaps he found the company of Cherrie more enjoyable than that of his own apprentice.
“I’ll walk you out, Denan,” Cherrie said.
Arielle didn’t understand why the two of them attempted secrecy now that Heygar was dead. Perhaps they said nothing because the guilt was eating them up like a dead legend in a large fish’s mouth. They may as well wear the lust in bright colours instead of hiding it away as they had done for the last few months.
Oh, Heygar, how did you ever miss what was occurring in front of your Cherrie-flavoured eyes?
How many times were they found in snug little corners, whispering wonderful nothings in each other’s ear? How many times had Arielle heard a slight click of the lock as Cherrie slipped from Heygar’s room into another? Men could never see what was happening right in front of their eyes.
Poor Denan. He probably thought Cherrie was in love with him too.
17
A Fox’s Scent
Arielle watched the gloomy sky and muttered a curse. She doubted Iaculous was even listening. When he was concentrating on a difficult piece of weaving, his face changed, and he lost all ability to communicate.
It was something she should have been used to. However, recently, she grew frustrated as he displayed his desire for weaving over her company more frequently. He would sometimes fall silent for hours until he coerced a dead flower into blooming for a few breaths before withering away or tricking a leaf into slowing its descent from a tree. It was impressive but a little disheartening, although she had never complained.
All of these successes were away from the watchful eye of his disapproving master. Arielle imagined the absence of the old man’s burning stare helped the young weaver greatly. Today, he wasn’t weaving though. He was concentrating on something else entirely.
“If I’m to be soaked to a bone, I’d like to be moving, so it’s a worthy sacrifice,” she said, watching the sky for the inevitable rain.
Since he had stepped out of the tavern, Iaculous had behaved strangely. It was afternoon, and they hadn’t walked their horses more than a hundred yards from their inn. Now and then, he would bring his horse forward while looking to the sky and back at the ground, as if searching for a scent out on the hunt. Eventually, he came to a definite stop outside a brightly lit shop just down the road from their inn.
“I need to go in here,” he said, and she shrugged. Of course, he meant to go in. At this hour, Eralorien and her sister were likely heading on their way. It would do no good to meet them outside.
It was a fine enough shop, she supposed, with all the trinkets in the world on display. Arielle imagined Silvious drawn to its treasures, and her stomach clenched at her friend’s absence. He would make a fine deckhand. He had scaled the barge’s mast easily enough. She wondered if they would ever meet again.
“Would you at least wait for me?” she snapped as he entered.
A flash of warmth struck Arielle’s face, and with it came a slight pain in her head. Weaving was afoot, though of what, she could not say. She thought Iaculous capable of becoming a great weaver, and she desired to know more of their world, but he never offered explanations. Like her sister, he could be irritatingly stubborn.
She followed him into the shop and thought it more impressive within. Her eyes glimmered in the gold, silver, and diamond. She wanted to own it all, but more than that, she wanted Iaculous to do his business and let them be on their way. It seemed foolish to delay, and thoughts of completing the mission offered a greater relief this morning than the day before.
Iaculous walked around the small shop dreamily as if night-blind in a storm. His eyes fell upon every treasure but moved on without a second glance. Arielle could almost imagine him smelling the air. She nearly laughed until he spun and she caught sight of his eyes. They were his usual brown, but there was a film of grey covering each pupil. Then she felt the unnatural warmth pulse off him in waves as though it were his heartbeat. The unsettling eyes looked beyond her and came to stop upon the far wall, where the owner of the establishment busied himself polishing a large brass candelabrum behind an old counter.
The warmth dissipated immediately, and Iaculous gasped, as his mind appeared to return. He offered her his warmest smile, which only appeared when he was inebriated or when Eralorien was nowhere near. She returned the smile and immediately felt at ease.
“I saw it from the window,” Iaculous said loudly. The polishing stopped, the candelabrum was put aside, and the most enthusiastic smile appeared across crooked teeth.
“Did you now?” the owner said and looked behind him, searching for whatever treasure the patron so desired. He was forming his sales pitch depending on whatever was in demand, no doubt.
“The bandoleer, I mean,” Iaculous said. He reached for the long leather belt with six jingling glass jars.
Arielle felt dizzy when she saw it. It was the effect of the weaving and lack of soul, no doubt. Or else a reaction to too much meat for breakfast.
“The price?” Iaculous ran his fingers along each glass canister strapped in a divot of the thickly cut leather.
It wasn’t the prettiest accessory Arielle had ever seen, worn with age and scarred from warring times. Bereziel wore one embedded with amethyst stones, and she thought it far more appealing to the eye. She patted her pockets absently. Not a penny to her name.
The shop owner’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm. She’d seen that look on plenty of men when attempting fun and games. “Merely ten gold, my friend. A treasure, it is. Some say Mallum himself cut the leather into shape.” Arielle saw through the lie easily enough, but Iaculous wasn’t listening. He was rummaging in his pocket, and she knew he would come short and then she saw something else.
“This is all I have,” Iaculous said, dropping a couple pieces of gold across the counter. No bartering, no play, just a weak opening bet. It was also his closing bet too.
“That will be enough for a down payment, my friend.” The seller reached for the leather piece. Iaculous did not return it. Instead, he eyed the door and the horses outside. Where was there a rodenerack with swift fingers when needed?
Arielle looked down and spotted a little thing at his foot. Lost beneath the strangely covered carpet of the floor, it was almost indiscernible. She bent down and recovered the ring. With a quick application of spittle and the right amount of rubbing on her blouse, she held the beautiful ring up in the candlelight and thought it stunning.
“That’s not yours, little girl.”
However, quicker than the eye could see, she had it on her finger. She read the sudden rage and his quick recovery of control. She waved her finger as though Iaculous had made her the happiest little girl in the realm, for it was a stunning piece. What owner was foolish or heartbroken enough to barter such a wonderful piece? It was worth at least thirty gold on a weak barter alone, but she was not willing to attempt a fair barter at all.
“My gold ring,” she said, beaming her finest smile. “I can’t believe I almost lost it in the sawdust. I’m such a damsel,” she squeaked, but her eyes marked her intent. Make me an offer, an
d you can still avoid a terrible loss.
If Iaculous observed or heard any of this exchange, he showed no interest. Instead, he stared at the bandoleer.
“I was sure I dropped it on the ground not two hours ago,” the owner said. Arielle read his lie and also his intention. “Would you consider an exchange of wares?” It was lose-lose, so better the lesser loss of the two.
“How much would you offer for my wedded ring?” she asked. Iaculous looked up from his desired object for a moment before returning his gaze.
“I’ll give you eight gold, a fair deal.”
“But, fine sir, he used a family heirloom when he asked me. Surely, you wouldn’t expect me to just hand it back at such a steal?” she countered but removed the ring. Nearly there. On the one hand, it was his ring to start. On the other, a local constabulary might favour the pretty little thing’s word over his, especially if they believed they could profit from her favour. She had learned more than enough tricks from her sister to make them believe as much.
“A fair deal would be swapping both, I suppose,” Mister Wildrew said and cursed his mixed fortune under his breath.
Arielle recovered the few pieces offered by Iaculous and dragged her potential lover away from the counter, lest he change his mind with the ring in his possession. However, he didn’t.
“Thank you. Come again,” the owner said dejectedly.
“You are a good man, sir.”
Strangely, Iaculous did not don the belt. Instead, he packed it safely away on the back of his horse with the rest of his belongings.
Without warning, a blast of warmth struck her, and Arielle felt a dreadful surge of sorrow. Thoughts of never seeing Silvious again flooded through her mind, and she felt the same panic she had awoken to that morning. She felt like crying but instead climbed aboard her horse and led Iaculous from the town.
The land they rode upon was dead. The path they took was more miserable than any she had taken before. She had seen weeping oaks in all corners of Dellerin at all points of season, and they never differed. Yet, in Venistra, there was no sign of rich green in their leaves nor wild amber in their branches. They appeared eaten through by a virus of fire, leaving a living husk of ashen grey behind. They moved in the wind like a sickly ocean of cobblestone, and they unsettled her so. If these were the trees, it was no surprise to hear a great blight had taken much of the land.
“It feels like we are riding through a graveyard,” Arielle said as they brought their horses through the path in the forest. The path itself was dark despite the day, with tall lines of dreary trees on either side. She wondered if it was the entire forest or if there were shards of green farther in. She had little intention of discovering for herself.
Iaculous offered no comment.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine.”
They rode for a time in unusual silence. It unsettled her. Many times, she thought of breaking this silence, but the opportunity never arose. All that mattered was the path and the journey.
It wasn’t until sunset, when her rear ached and her stomach grumbled, that he finally spoke. She wanted to believe it was the Iaculous she knew well, but he seemed different.
“Something concerns you?”
The fading rays shone upon the grey and offered what beauty it could to such deathly-looking trees. Arielle had never hated being alone with him in her life.
“I’m concerned about many things, some of which are you,” she said, stretching in the saddle.
“There are strange energies in this place. I felt it from the moment we made landfall. It is as though the source is closer to our world in Venistra.”
Arielle didn’t understand, and she knew better than to ask.
Iaculous let go of the reins and held up his hand. He closed his eyes, and his fingers glowed. She had seen it a thousand times before but never with as little ease. He met her eyes, and his hands became a little sphere of fire. She shuddered and remembered the night before.
“It’s okay, Arielle,” he said and raised his other hand. As before, his fingers glowed and his burning hand bubbled, but he smiled again. “It doesn’t hurt now,” he said, and she felt very little heat from his body. “I can do both.”
Arielle smiled warily. He healed as he destroyed. It was not a done thing. What was Eralorien really teaching him?
Iaculous’s hand ceased its bubbling and, after a few moments, it returned to normal, though it still held the flame. He laughed, and the flame grew until he released it by sending it careening into a nearby tree. It took light immediately. Arielle pulled her horse from the fire, cursing loudly as she did.
“I’m sorry,” he cried. Iaculous dropped from his horse and ran towards the tree aflame. With both hands, he killed the flame with a gust of energy, but this time, he fell to his knees from the effort. “I’m getting better,” he gasped and laughed aloud again.
He waited for her to join him in merriment, but Arielle kicked her horse forward and rode away from him.
18
Brief Clarifications Of Precarious Things
They rode for a few hours more without saying another word. The rain fell down on them, the muddy path and the dreary forest of grey, but Arielle made no complaint and neither did Iaculous. Instead, they fell into an uncomfortable silence usually shared by couples wedded for a decade or more.
Even when they rested for a time, ate the last of the strange Venistrian meat, and washed it down with a bitter limewater concoction, they still said nothing. Again, she thought of an old wedded couple’s miserable behaviour. She wondered if this was a glimpse of her future.
Now and then, while in the saddle, Iaculous would raise a hand. A thin, blue glow would appear in the growing dark and fade quickly as he shook the light from his fingers. Arielle knew he was creating and controlling delicate fireballs and extinguishing them out just as swiftly. It unnerved her that he ignored the trauma of what had occurred before, when he had lost control. He viewed it as a challenge to master, and perhaps it was. Perhaps the more he weaved, the stronger he became.
Arielle could have asked him, but he would have never told her. For all the effort it usually took, he showed nothing more but a few deep breaths. However, these were only little balls of flame, unlike the torrent of wrath he had unleashed upon the grand cantuses. She wondered if he were lulling himself to arrogance and would he regret his missteps once again.
The wind blew soundlessly around them, and she rarely saw a bird above their heads. They had seen no towns along their route, and Arielle grew uneasy with so few signs of civilisation in this strange land. In parts where the dense forests of grey gave way to open land, they passed humble farms, which looked lost, desolate, and plagued by blight. A dead land. She knew Venistra was a place of few artists and poets, and now she understood why. There was nothing to inspire them but dreariness.
Arielle always thought Denan intense and broody, but growing up in a place like this, it was no surprise why he was, nor why he had little interest in ever returning home.
“I’m sorry.”
She knew his tone. It was the tone Iaculous offered to Eralorien to appease the old man when he felt very little contrition.
“Do you know what for?”
“Setting fire to the tree and scaring you?” he offered in a different tone, one used by broken husbands when facing the vengeance of their dutiful wives.
Arielle wondered if this was a precursor to their life: he a troubled weaver and she a dutiful wife satisfied with his depthless emotional silence. No, she would never settle with that at all. She would be something great herself. Bereziel had always reassured her she was special.
“You scared me on the barge. You scared me when you burned!” she snapped.
Iaculous muttered a curse under a breath in frustration. This wasn’t like him at all. He brought his horse to a stop, and she stopped with him.
“I didn’t realise what I was doing. I merely did it. Sometimes things happen out of a
weaver’s control. Sometimes there are terrible repercussions. You can’t know what it’s like to go through what I did and come out the other side.”
“Tell me, then,” Arielle countered. Iaculous looked through her as though she was a stranger: a stranger he could open up to, apparently.
“There is so little we know about weaving the source, except that it is manipulating energy from another place.”
Arielle knew all this but said nothing.
“They say when we die, our source energy or our souls, walk into the darkness beyond. This darkness is the other world, and a weaver is the doorway in-between. We are not godly wielders of this power. We can touch it momentarily and steal what power we can,” he said, and she only knew some of this.
“Tell me more.”
Iaculous smiled ruefully as though there was a greater understanding to his words she could not comprehend. “Most of what weavers achieve is through practice. There are few books on weaving, and those written say so little. A man could go mad reading for years and still learn nothing. Eralorien is my only guide in this world, so that is why things are as they are. I have little choice but to listen and steal what I can from him.” He reached across and took her hand, a reminder of his love for her.
“You are worrying me,” Arielle said and squeezed his hand in reply. It became unnaturally warm, and she released his grasp, lest he inadvertently burn her again. It would crush him if he hurt her again. It would crush her more.
“I know I have behaved strangely. I cannot explain why, nor can I help myself. Sometimes I want to cry out in frustration because I want to know it all,” Iaculous muttered. His voice was deep and peculiar, and she realised it was the voice he used when he was invoking the source beyond his capabilities. She remembered his husk of a broken body.
“You weave, yet there is nothing out here in the night to enchant,” she said, hoping to pull him back to himself. Perhaps it was just the loss of Heygar affecting him.
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