Vaulted ceilings passed by overhead as the young Arpak explored the space, looking for what the Elf had told him was there. Deeper into the bowels of the building he went. The ceiling sank and pressed down over his head, the temperature dropped, and he shivered. He swung the torch to and fro, reading labels on burlap bags, stamped in several languages.
Crossing over a long, crooked gouge in the floor, Ashley saw a squat door in a far corner and moved toward it like a man in a trance. He reached for the handle, but saw chains barring his way and huffed a frustrated groan. He cast about with the torch for something he could use to break the chain and, when nothing revealed itself, pulled his sword from its sheath. Several sharp hits and the chain gave way. Ashley pulled the chains through the metal rings and let them drop to the floor. He put his sword away, pulled the door open, and peered inside.
More burlap sacks like the ones scattered throughout the basement. He heaved one toward himself and pulled open the ties at the mouth. A smell like black pepper and cloves drifted to his nose as he reached inside and grasped an oddly-shaped, hard lump. The firelight revealed a fungus shaped like a thick half-disk. It was dark brown and lumpy on the underside, and bright fuchsia and smooth on the top-side.
Ashley stared at the mushroom in wonder. This strange growth is the source of all the friction between my mother and Rodania—–but why?
His eyes drifted from the specimen in his hand to the mountain of bags which had been shoved into the space that had been relegated seemingly just for this purpose. How long have the mushrooms been here?
He held the fungus to his nose and sniffed. It did not have the same mouldering scent that most things in the basement had. It smelled fresh, and even seemed to fill him with a kind of subtle vitality. Tentatively, he stuck his tongue out to taste it. He bit off a small piece and crushed it between his front teeth, letting his taste buds experience it. Mildly spicy. A warm feeling filled his mouth. He spat the bits out, but the warm sensation remained.
The sound of distant voices and the scraping of a boat against stone made Ashley's heart pound. Moving quickly, he put the fungus into his satchel, closed up the bag, and shoved it back into place. He closed the door and replaced the broken chain, hoping that whoever was about to make a delivery wouldn't be delivering more of the fungus and coming this far back into the basement.
Ashley jogged through the basement as the chain on the other side of the outer doors leading to the beach began to rattle. He doused the torch in a barrel of water, replaced it in its iron holder, and was up and out and walking down the hallway of the trade office as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, the fungus tucked safely away in his satchel.
CHAPTER SIX
"Pass the green curlicues, please. The ones with the hair," said Allan to Eohne, forking another bite of orange mash into his mouth.
"You mean the piprian ferns?" Eohne passed him the bowl of steamed vegetables, one elegant, dark brow cocked with humor.
"Whatever they are, they taste like an asparagus mated with a banana." Allan said, cheeks bulging. "They're amazing."
"Normally I wouldn't think that sounded appealing." Jordan speared one of the tightly curled green ferns as the bowl passed under her nose. Each fern was as bright as the inside of a lime and covered in short, silky stalks of yellow hair. "But there is something oddly addictive about this fuzzy veggie. I find it strange how we have some Earth vegetables and fruits here, like potatoes and apples, but none of the Oriceran vegetation made it through the other way."
"That's because over two thousand years ago, Earthlings emigrated here in large numbers, bringing seeds and farming technologies and their languages with them. But that same sort of mass exodus never happened going the other way." Allan shoved a fern into his mouth and chewed rapidly, swallowing so he could get out his next thought. "Explains why there are plenty of humans here but no Elves or Strix on Earth. Except for in books and movies, of course."
Sol was nodding. "Did you also know that an entire legion of Roman soldiers accidentally slipped through a portal and ended up here?"
"Yes!" Allan's entire countenance brightened. "I almost spat out my tea when I ran across that in an old text at the library. On Earth they're known as the Lost 9th Legion; they disappeared from Scotland. They still live in the wilderness on the west side of The Conca, north of the sixty-third parallel. I've heard that it's hostile territory up there. Must have been quite a shock for the Romans, soldiers or not."
Sol nodded. "We studied them a bit at the Academy. They became a warrior tribe whose descendants culled whole herds of feroth from the wastelands, eliminating a peace-loving tribe of healers." He shook his head. "It's a story that seems to repeat itself, no matter which planet you live on."
"Is this what you've been doing with your time, Dad?" Jordan sopped up the last of Eohne's amazing gravy off her plate and popped it into her mouth.
"Never in my whole life could I read all of the books written about Earth history, and it's the same here. The library at the University of Rodania is absolutely stuffed with an entirely new world. I'd forget to eat, if Runcher didn't remind me. It's wonderfully fascinating."
"Who's Runcher?" Jordan leaned back in her chair and rubbed a hand subconsciously over her full belly.
"A professor at the university and the academy," Sol answered for Allan. "Smart man, but if he's still teaching the same way he did when I was there, then he really needs to switch things up or move on and do something else. I love history, and even I fell asleep in his classes."
Allan chuckled. "He does have a monotonous voice, but I think I can call the fellow a friend by this point. We end up in long discussions whenever I'm there, and I continuously make him late for work."
The apartment they found for Allan and Eohne gave them easy access to throughways for Rodania's wingless citizens. The government of Rodania never prioritized developing modes of transportation for non-Strix, since there were so few of them. Horses and bicycles were used; ponies had been introduced to Rodania before the islands were lifted from the sea, and they continued to be bred in controlled numbers. There were also Strix for hire who would happily carry wingless residents where they needed to go——for a fee, according to the weight of the load.
Overall, it was a tedious affair to get from place to place, if you lived far from your work, so once wingless citizens were settled on one of the islands, they rarely left.
The apartment tower wasn't far from the university library, which drew Allan like a fly to honey. He'd joined a cleanup crew after the harpy battle and was dispatched along with other wingless citizens to put Upper Rodania to rights and help those with damaged homes and businesses recover. After work, he'd walk to the university library to spend hours poring over books and, apparently, talking with Professor Runcher. Gradually, the work that the wingless citizens could do within a reasonable radius was done, and Allan gained more hours of free time.
"You've not been missing Virginia, Dad? No desire to go back?"
Allan scoffed. "I hated my life there."
Jordan smiled. Her father would never have admitted that to her while they were living in Richmond—–he wouldn't have wanted her to worry—–but she'd known. "I think it was more that you hated your work."
Allan nodded. "Yes, being a politician was possibly the worst choice I could have ever made for myself."
"You can't change jobs?" Eohne asked.
"It would be difficult at my age, and I'm not sure what else I would do."
"You wouldn't teach history?" Jordan knew that had always been Allan's dream.
"I'd have to go back to school to get the proper credentials, and I'm not sure going back to college is really in the cards for me. Why, are you trying to foist me back to Earth?"
Allan was trying to keep his tone light, but there was a vulnerable sound in his voice, like he wasn't entirely sure he was wanted.
"Of course not, Dad. I love that you're here. I just want you to be happy."
"I am happy, Jordy. I mean, if you decided that you wanted to go home, naturally I would go with you." Her dad's hazel eyes held her teal ones; eyes not of his genes, but it couldn't have mattered less. "You're the only family I have; I want to be where you are."
Jordan's heart melted. "Me too, Dad."
"What about you, Eohne? What did you get up to today?" Sol asked as he got up and began to clear the plates.
Eohne's face brightened. "Actually, it's been a fascinating couple of days. I met a Light Elf named Linlett who is here to solve the barrier violations."
"Calling what the harpies did a 'barrier violation' is colossally understating reality," murmured Sol, depositing the dirty dishes into the sink and coming back for a second load.
"It's about time they sent someone," said Jordan. "Just one Elf, though? You'd think they might send a whole team. A nation is in jeopardy here, and it looks as though their faulty magic might be the cause of it."
"I don't think they need to send anyone else," Eohne said, somewhat dreamily. "Linlett is very competent. Light Elf magic is even more spectacular than I thought it would be."
Jordan and Sol looked at one another, and Sol cocked an eyebrow. Did Eohne have a crush, or was the admiration on her face a professional one? They'd never seen Eohne with a love interest before, but there was nothing she was more enthusiastic about than magic, so it was hard to tell.
Allan was smiling at Eohne. "He didn't mind you tampering with his magic, I take it? Didn't you go down to the border specifically to poke around?"
"He didn't mind at all. In fact, he seemed keen to work together on it. Bit of a shock, really." Eohne's voice sounded far away, like she was speaking to her friends but her mind was elsewhere.
"How are you going to tackle it?" Sol sat down again at the now clean table. Curiosity was etched across his features. "Where do you start?"
"Linlett has a way of making the magic barrier visible. I guess that's where we start… Looking for anomalies, gaps, loopholes."
"What about interrogating each of the border guards?" Sol suggested.
"I'm told Balroc is making arrangements to have that done," Eohne replied. She chewed her lip doubtfully. "It does seem a good place to start, but if it was one of the border guards, why would they ‘fess up to it?" Her eyes shifted to Sol's. "They wouldn't consider torturing them, would they?"
Jordan's skin prickled with horror, but as she observed the Elf's aversion to such a tactic, she was reminded of the hordes of gnashwitted people back in Charra-Rae. They were in that state as a result of what Eohne had invented: destructive magic she didn't know how to undo. Knowing the Elf better now than when she'd first been exposed to the gnashwits, Jordan believed that Eohne would never have invented such magic unless at Sohne's directive.
Sol frowned. "I don't know." A flicker of an idea crossed his face. "Could you develop some magic that reveals when someone is lying?"
"Like a polygraph!" Jordan immediately thought of Arth. She’s brilliant. Surely she can replicate a polygraph, if we can get our hands on one.
"What's a polygraph?" Eohne's brows shot up with interest.
"It's a machine that's built to detect lies," explained Jordan.
"Earth has such a machine?" Eohne sounded amazed.
A surprised look passed between Jordan and Allan.
"I would expect your magic could do that better than any human-made device," said Allan. "You've never thought of it?"
Eohne shook her head, still clearly taken with the idea. "Maybe the Light Elves have such a magic, but Charra-Rae Elves don't lie. We're too afraid of Sohne. We can never tell what she does and doesn't know. Plus, it's not in our nature. We're all on the same side, working toward the same goals. Why would we lie to each other?"
"Everyone lies," murmured Allan.
Jordan shot him a somber look. "You sound so cynical, Dad. Of course you would think that, you worked in politics. Lying comes with the territory."
Eohne was one-track. "How does this machine work?"
"I had to take one once," Allan admitted.
"Dad!" Jordan sat upright, shocked. "What for?"
He shrugged. "I didn't mind. I had nothing to hide. It was to clear me of suspicion around Jaclyn's disappearance." He started using his hands to explain the device to Eohne. "They put a strap around my chest—–"
"On your skin?"
"Over my clothes. And the machine sat beside me on a tabletop, hooked up to the strap by cables. It had a needle that jumped back and forth as they asked me questions, and it would supposedly reveal whether I was lying or not. Polygraph machines are, to this day, dismissed by many as ‘pseudoscience’, but I read up on it before the test. If the person taking it isn't trained in countermeasures, the test can tell lies from the truth at rates well above chance." He jutted his chin forward and shrugged. "It's not perfect, but it's better than nothing."
"What does it measure?" Eohne leaned forward on her elbows, her big brown eyes locked on Allan's face.
"Blood pressure, pulse, perspiration, things like that. Physiological signs that are known to fluctuate if a person is lying."
"Hmmmm." Eohne mulled this over. "I have never considered inventing such a magic, but it strikes me that, while lying might be difficult to detect, deception might be easier."
"Aren't they the same thing?" Jordan asked.
"Not necessarily," Sol interjected. He'd been leaning his chair back on its rear legs, a toe hooked under the cross-beam beneath the table. He let the front chair legs drop with a clack. "Lying means a false statement has been made—–deceit is when someone says or does something with the intention to cause harm."
Eohne nodded. "I might be able to wrap my head around developing magic that could detect a person's intentions, but lying?" She made a tsk sound and shook her head. "That would be a big undertaking. Bigger even than trying to synthesize gersher fungus."
Jordan just stopped herself from adding, ‘Or reversing the gnashwits?’
Eohne gazed at her worktable longingly. "Thank you, Allan. You've given me food for thought."
"Speaking of food." Jordan got up. "Anyone for tea and dessert?"
"You're a ravenous one lately," Allan observed with a smile.
"It's the training," Sol explained. "I'm starving all the time, too."
Jordan got up to put the kettle on, and as she made her way to the stove, she passed by the worktable Eohne had set up for herself. A cluster of tiny white butterflies hovered over it in a tight clump.
"Oh, pretty!" She bent to take a closer look. "They're so delicate and beautiful." Each butterfly had wings of a pale green color on a bright blue body no larger than her thumbnail. A single transparent dot sat in the centre of each upper wing.
"Don't disrupt them!" Eohne's voice was filled with alarm.
"Oh, sorry!" Jordan turned away. "Just looking, I wasn't going to touch them."
Her breath, gentle though it was, passed over the butterflies, and they responded to the light wind immediately by breaking formation. They fluttered outward and then inward, each in their own circle and in perfect unison with one another. They repeated this pattern: swooping out, circling, and coming so close their wings touched.
"Whoa," Jordan breathed, mesmerized.
Eohne let out a soft groan.
"It's time for you to come home, Eohne, my brave friend." Sohne's voice emanated from the cluster of butterflies.
"Sweet fancy Moses!" Jordan cried out and took a step back, startled.
"It's a message," explained Eohne, resigned. "In case you haven't figured that out yet."
"Your human friend has been roused from his magical slumber," Sohne's voice continued. "And you have done more than your fair share to contribute to the war effort in Rodania." Sohne's voice was breathy and musical, soft and sweet sounding. "Come home, Eohne. Come home to Charra-Rae. We are waiting for you. We need you."
"I've never heard her sound so…" Sol trailed off, looking askance at Eohne.
"Nice?"
Eohne let out a sigh as she watched the butterflies return to their original formation. Sohne's message appeared to be finished. "She has no power over her Elves when they are not in Charra-Rae. It's why she was so hesitant to let me go in the first place. She cannot compel me to come home, she can only ask. She trusted that I would have returned by now, but I have violated that trust, and the violation becomes more serious with every day that passes. She sounds warm and fuzzy, but inside, I guarantee you she is seething."
"When did you get this message?" Jordan resumed putting on tea and grabbed the biscuits Allan had bought on his way home from the university that day. She returned to the table, opening the carton. "And I'm sorry, by the way, for digging into your personal mail. I didn't realize…"
Eohne waved a hand. "It's alright. You might as well know what I'm up against." She slumped in her chair. "I got it a few days after the harpy battle."
Allan, Sol and Jordan shared startled looks.
"That was almost four weeks ago." Allan put a hand on Eohne's shoulder. "And you've not responded?"
"No."
"Should you respond?"
"I don't know," Eohne almost wailed. She put her chin in her hand and propped an elbow on the table in an uncharacteristic posture of hopelessness.
"Do you want to go home?" Sol asked gently. "Because you know you don't have to, right?"
"Yeah, you're family," Jordan added with ferocity. The idea of Eohne leaving was a prickly one, and much more so if Eohne had to return to an angry princess. How might Sohne punish her?
"Thank you," Eohne sighed. "I don't know that, either. I mean, sometimes, yes, I miss the wilderness of Charra-Rae. I miss my Elven friends. But if I go home, I'm not sure Sohne will ever let me leave again. And the longer I leave it, the more likely that possibility is. I wish I could just travel in and out of my home as I wished, like all of you can."
Transcendent: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Kacy Chronicles Book 4) Page 6