That was odd, Jekaran thought as he lay back down, his arms crossed behind his head. For some reason, as he drifted off to sleep, an image of Maely flashed before his mind.
“VORAKK!” The cry tore Jekaran from the world of nonsensical dreams. Urgent bell tolling followed a heartbeat later, prompting Jekaran to abruptly sit up and throw off his wool blanket. He glanced around as other men of the company jumped to their feet and drew their knives, or strung their bows. Having nothing but a hunting knife himself, Jekaran briefly entertained the idea of digging out Ez’s sword, but his uncle’s emphatic insistence that he not touch it, combined with the thought of giving Gymal an opportunity to have him arrested, immediately squashed the notion.
“What’s going on?” he heard Gymal shout to no one in particular.
Jekaran scanned the camp until he caught a sight that set his heart beating faster. Three indistinct human-like shapes were quickly moving away from the embers of the camp cook-fire. The shapes would have been completely invisible save for the light of several low-burning lamps hanging from posts surrounding the fire pit. A man cried out in pain as one of the shapes took a swipe at him. He attacked back with an awkward swing of his hatchet, but failed to connect. The man stumbled to the ground, a long gash marring the left side of his face.
Jekaran stumbled to his feet, serrated hunting knife in his right hand as he sprinted toward the center of camp. A blur of translucent motion appeared in front of him and he swept the blade in a wide arc. The shape launched into the air at the precise moment, and Jekaran’s blade missed. The thud of something behind him shook the ground, and Jekaran pitched forward as a violent shove sent him to his knees while his weapon slipped from his grip. He instinctively rolled to spring back up, the vision of his sparring sessions with Mull dancing in his memories. He snatched his knife from the ground and gave chase after the shape, now barely visible in the shadows of the outer camp.
The sounds of commotion and fighting faded behind him, and Jekaran thought he heard a woman call his name as he ran after his near invisible quarry. He put the oddity out of his mind as his eyes fixed on a small, jagged line of luminescent green hovering several paces in front of him. As Jekaran gained, the glowing, jagged line became clearer.
Blood.
The realization hit Jekaran like a blow to the head. The glowing line of green must be a wound. Jekaran immediately made the gash his point of focus, the strategic feints of the creature ineffectual as he now kept it in his sights. They were now completely clear of the camp and running through an open field toward a dark mass on the horizon Jekaran recognized as the forest’s border.
If it reaches the forest, I’ll lose it. The realization prompted Jekaran into a faster sprint and he began to close the distance between them. When he had closed to just four paces away, Jekaran lurched to his right, a small incline leading directly to the creature. He leapt and slammed hard into something hard and leathery. Both he and the creature crashed to the ground and rolled. As they struggled, Jekaran felt something sharp clamp down on his arm. Pain like fire burned on his skin along with a warm wetness he knew must be blood.
Jekaran groped at the ground for his knife, which he had dropped again, and settled for a rock the size of his hand. He raised it and drove it down onto the blurred shape still latched on his arm. Immediately, the teeth withdraw from his flesh, and he jerked his arm away while slamming the rock onto the monster’s head. It released a guttural groan and stopped struggling. Jekaran dropped the weapon and pinned the creature on its back.
He quickly found his knife and brought the blade to the monster’s scaly throat.
It was then Jekaran realized it had become fully visible. He gasped as he looked down at the creature’s face.
Although shaped like a person, the thing had bronze, scaly skin and small bone-like spikes protruding along the line of its lower jaw. The same bone-like spikes ridged its brows, and its nose was little more than two tiny holes at the end of a small muzzle. Two yellow eyes with slits for pupils focused on Jekaran, and the Vorakk made a noise low in its throat that sounded to Jekaran like a cross between a hiss and growl.
“Don’t move!” Jekaran growled as he pressed the blade harder against the creature’s throat. Though softer than the rest of its skin, the Vorakk’s throat was tough like leather, and Jekaran knew he’d have to use a disproportionate amount of force if he wanted to cut it.
“Reka, human boy, just kill!” the creature said in a guttural tone that ended like a hiss.
Jekaran faltered for a second, but then tightened his grip on the handle of his knife and demanded, “Why were you in our camp?”
“Food, aka,” the creature said.
Jekaran’s stomach turned. Had the three Vorakk raiders been intent on eating them? “Well, you won’t be tasting human flesh tonight!”
The Vorakk made a noise Jekaran thought sounded like a scoff. “Isk, not human meat, stupid boy! Vorakk want rest of meal. Cooked bird, yes?”
Jekaran’s anger cooled, replaced by surprised pity. “You wanted our leftovers?”
The sounds of shouting grew louder, evoking a shift in the Vorakk’s stare. He looked beyond Jekaran and hissed again, “Aek, do not make Vorakk a slave! Just kill!”
Jekaran slowly withdrew his knife from the Vorakk’s throat as he warily stood. He stepped back, cast a glance over his shoulder at his approaching fellows and then looked back at the creature on the ground. It stared at him with a clinical detachment Jekaran could only guess was the Vorakk’s version of surprise.
“Go!” Jekaran snapped as he waved his hand at the empty darkness beyond.
The Vorakk slowly nodded, the now familiar blur of motion, like heat lines, stood up. Jekaran took a step back and raised the knife in warning. But the creature didn’t attack. It lingered for the briefest of moments, and then the luminescent green line of the Vorakk’s open wound moved away before fading altogether.
“Jek!” a concerned voice called out.
Jekaran turned to greet a group of four men led by the tall Vestus.
“You okay, Jek?” Vestus asked as he slowed out of his jog.
He nodded as he gingerly touched the bite on his arm. “It got away.”
Vestus nodded. “So did the others. But Torkas wounded one of them pretty bad. I’ll be surprised if it isn’t already dead, what with all the glowing blood it lost.”
For some reason that made him feel nauseous. They had just wanted our leftovers. He couldn’t help but grimace.
“Sure you’re okay, Jek?” Vestus asked again, his eyes falling on his bloody forearm.
“Yeah.” He forced a smile. “It’s not deep.”
“Well, be sure to clean it out. Who knows what those lizards have been eating.” Vestus cast a glance over his shoulder. “Lord Gymal will want a report from you.”
Jekaran groaned.
“I know,” Vestus said sympathetically. “Best to get it over with.”
Jekaran nodded as he tore a strip of cloth from his tunic and tied it around the wound. As Jekaran fell in with the group, he noticed Lyam was one of the men that came to his aid, and eased next to the boy to say hello.
“Hi,” the boy muttered. He wore an oversized hat, a set of old spectacles, and kept his head down so Jekaran had trouble seeing his face.
“I’m Jekaran, but everyone calls me Jek. You’re Lyam, right?”
The boy only nodded.
Shy kid, Jekaran thought again. “Are you from Genra?”
The boy shook his head and replied in a barely audible, “Searsey.”
“I know it. Not too far outside the white forest.”
Lyam nodded again.
“I feel like I know you, Lyam. Who’s your father?”
Just then Jekaran heard the nasally shout of Gymal, apparently still in a panic, call his name. “Jekaran!” the man repeated.
Jekaran sighed and cast a tacit glance at Vestus, who just smirked and shook his head. It was time for Jekaran’s daily insult session. An
d I thought I was going to escape being humiliated today.
Relief washed over Maely as she watched Jekaran jog away. She took the opportunity to quickly disappear into the shadows and make for her bedroll. That was stupid! She scolded herself. But she couldn’t have hung back while Jekaran ran down a Vorakk raider all by himself. From now on, I’ll have to take more care to avoid him as much as possible.
Maely found her bedroll and knelt down. She removed her boots and loosened her chest wrap. She wouldn’t take it off, lest someone see, but she did allow herself some comfort for sleeping purposes. She lay down and drew her wool blanket up almost over her head. The chilled air seeped through the edges of the covering and Maely shivered. Her spine tightened, but she knew it wasn’t only the temperature making it hard to fall asleep. The excitement of the attack, and the unfamiliar surroundings, her decision to be here at all, she was starting to think she had made an enormous mistake.
Her brother’s face eased its haunting grin into her trailing thoughts. “Ez will take care of him,” she muttered to herself.
Jekaran woke to a series of minor aches and pains and a tender left forearm. An involuntary groan left his lips as he slowly sat up. He flexed his shoulders back and forth, then drew in a deep breath of fresh morning air. The smell of frying meat evoked a growl from his stomach, which gave him the will to overcome the protests of his painful bruises. He quickly packed his belongings, threw the bag over a tender shoulder, and headed for the cook-fire.
After a leisurely breakfast and time spent in the latrine, Jekaran found himself trudging along the dirt highway once again. He continuously pulled on the straps of his duffle, trying to adjust them to keep the point of Ez’s sword from poking him—as it was wont to do—but he never could get the positioning quite right. Growling under his breath, he thought about carrying the bag, and let it slide down his arm into a hand. Twenty minutes later, his arm complained of the weight, and he settled on minor discomfort over unnecessary exertion.
Just a few more days of travel, he reminded himself.
They were en route to Rasha, the launching point of the expedition proper. There, Gymal would give the men a day to rest and buy additional supplies, not out of any real concern for their welfare, but likely so he could visit the whorehouses and secure a fresh supply of cannabis for himself. That would give Jekaran the opportunity to slip away and find Irvis. He doubted Gymal would even care if he didn’t return. Actually, he would probably prefer that. Jekaran scoffed at the thought.
The days and nights following passed without incident, and it was on the morning of the eighth day from when they left Genra when Rasha appeared on the horizon. The city was one of the largest in all of Aiestal, said to be home to hundreds of thousands of people. It was un-walled, situated at the base of a grassy hill on the west end of a glittering lake, and mostly circular in its design. As the miles passed, Rasha grew larger and Jekaran could soon make out the gigantic statue of a robed woman rising above the hundreds of buildings. It was the goddess, Rasheera, mother of life and creation. Her statue was at the center of Rasha, which itself was originally founded as a colony for ascetic devotees. Despite this, Jekaran knew Rasha was far from a holy city. Ez had explained Rasha had largely become a way station of the southwest, a haven for travelers and a rest stop on the way to the capital. Of course, the transient population attracted merchants like fetid meat-attracted flies, and so the once reclusive religious colony had grown into an urban collage of inns, bazaars, and other operations of commerce, many of dubious legitimacy.
It was evening when Gymal’s company finally reached the city, the light of the sun not quite gone, but the shadows quickly lengthening. Gymal turned his ghern to face the men and announced, “You are on your own for food and lodging until tomorrow. You may purchase supplies, visit kin, or carouse, gamble and whore for all I care. Just be back here at two hours past noon tomorrow, understand?”
Jekaran heard a murmur of agreement as the men began to disperse.
“I will not wait for anyone,” Gymal warned. Then he abruptly turned his ghern and trotted it into the city, his weary pack servants and secretary struggling to keep pace.
“You heard the boss,” Vestus said as he clamped a big hand down on Jekaran’s shoulder. “What say we court lady fortune at the dicing tables tonight? I promise I won’t tell your uncle if you won’t tell my wife.”
Jekaran laughed. “That sounds great, but I have to first run an errand for my uncle.” The lie invoked a pang of grief at the thought of Mae and Mull. Now he would part ways with Vestus and was likely never to see the man again.
“One that can’t wait ‘til morning?” Vestus asked, sounding crestfallen.
“I’ll try to get done before it gets too late.”
Vestus nodded. “Then come find us at the Wandering Willow. My cousin owns the inn and can get us a discount on rooms and food.”
“What about companionship?” a rowdy voice sounded from the group of men.
Vestus turned and laughed. “No one has enough coins to buy you companionship, Del. You’re too damned ugly!”
Jekaran laughed with the others and then affectionately gripped Vestus’ bicep. “I’ll catch up with you,” he said, although, to him, the words sounded like goodbye. Vestus nodded, and Jekaran turned away.
As he did, he caught a glimpse of Lyam out of the corner of his eye. The boy had been keeping his distance, deliberately avoiding Jekaran if he read it right. But now Lyam looked poised to follow. I can’t have that, Jekaran realized, and kept his eyes locked on the boy.
Lyam caught him staring and, as Jekaran expected, became uncomfortable and turned away. Satisfied he wouldn’t have a tagalong, Jekaran slipped into the ranks of a passing merchant caravan. He wove in between the merchants and found cover behind a particularly large gentleman.
Jekaran looked back and caught Lyam looking about frantically for him.
Good, he sighed. Under normal circumstances he would’ve gone out of his way to befriend the boy. After all, he knew how it felt to be an outcast, and he recognized the lonely desperation in Lyam’s shadowing him. But he had himself to worry about, himself and Ez.
“Sorry, kid,” he whispered.
Even at dusk, Rasheera teemed with life. Streets flooded with people from all corners of Aiestal created an ambient roar like nothing Jekaran had ever heard. At first, it was almost overwhelming, but, within a half an hour, he successfully relegated it to background noise in his mind. Jekaran wove his way through the congested streets for over an hour before finding the center of the city. It was then that he got his first clear look at the gigantic statue of the goddess. It rose higher than any other building, a height Jekaran guessed was close to fifty feet. The statue was cut from white marble and depicted Rasheera dressed in a low-cut, sleeveless robe-like dress. Her hair was long and wavy, falling past her waist almost to the back of her knees, and she held her right hand aloft as if reaching for the sky itself. It was a magnificent testament to the skill of the artisans who sculpted it.
He ran his fingers through his hair and then tucked his hands into his pants pockets. Maely would have loved to see this. And Mull too. Especially him. A newly familiar sense of loneliness settled over him again, and he quickly pushed it away. No time for that.
Lifting his eyes skyward, he noticed the statue’s amethyst eyes were glowing. He tilted his head, surprised he hadn’t noticed the feature when he first beheld the sculpture. A reflection from the setting sun, nice effect. Curious, he searched the sky and then realized the sun was setting on the opposite side of the statue. His eyebrows furrowed, and he drew closer, craning his neck for a visual confirmation. A soft sound chimed from behind him, like a crystal bell, but he ignored it.
“Incredible,” Jekaran whispered aloud.
His breath caught, for Jekaran realized then that he wasn’t just looking at an impressive piece of art, but an Apeira well. The statue was a shell created to protect the crystal monolith beneath, only the eyes giving away
its secret.
If the face of the goddess were at the top of the monolith, then the well was the tallest Jekaran had ever seen. Not that he had seen a lot of wells, but he had seen enough over the course of last year’s well-find to know that Rasha’s Apeira well was abnormally large.
It makes sense, he thought. The devotees that had built Rasha would’ve seen the well as a physical manifestation of Rasheera’s power, and not wanting to promote dependence on anything except their goddess, they would’ve done something to tie her to the source that powered all of the talises in their city.
Thinking of the goddess’ disciples reminded Jekaran of his urgent need to find Irvis.
After one last marvel, he crossed the city center toward a four-story stone building with fluted columns lining a covered causeway leading to its front entrance. It was the Rasheeran monastery, the place Ez had told Jekaran he would find Irvis. Odd place for a retired Rikujo crime lord, he thought. Then again what better place to hide from a thieves’ guild than in a holy place?
As Jekaran passed through the aisle of columns, he saw small, milky white glass orbs hanging inconspicuously from the ceiling. As if welcoming him, the orbs began to glow until they reached a luminescent shine that lit up the entire causeway. He marveled again, never having seen so many light talises in one place. He craned his head as he walked and almost collided with one of the columns.
After that, he restricted his marveling to short glances.
Jekaran reached the double, wooden doors of the monastery. He tried to push and pull it open, but was surprised to find the door locked. He gripped a large, iron ring hanging from the front of the door at his right and banged three times. He tapped his fingers against his leg, counted to ten, and was about to knock again when he heard the shuffling of steps from behind the door. The sound grew louder and was followed by the unmistakable sounds of locks unbolting. Jekaran stepped back just as one of the double doors swung inward, revealing a tall, robed man with long wispy-white hair.
The Lure of Fools Page 8