The Lure of Fools

by Jason James King

  Jove took a few steps toward the direction of the sound. Stars appeared amid the wash of purple atmosphere–that was new–and grew larger, and larger. Not stars, but balls of white light. They raced toward him, hundreds of them. He remembered seeing their like before, when he fought the Vorakk shaman back in Aiested. Then he’d only faced a few of the things, and they weren’t as large as the ones that now flew directly at him.

  I can’t eat those!

  Jove growled and turned to jump down the hole, but was struck mid-leap in the back and was flung into the purple sky. The dilution of gravity doubled his kinetic motion and he soared away from the glass orb until he managed to grab hold of another piece of floating rock. He landed, but before Jove could stand, another ball of white light crashed into him, followed by another, and then another. They assailed Jove like vengeful hail, each striking down with the force of a thick fist. Pummeled from every side, Jove covered his head and whimpered.

  Blow after blow kept him kneeling, his tears dripping on the gray rock. He leaned halfway over the edge of the asteroid giving him a perfect view of the glass sphere through which he could see his perfect, silver-haired doll–his prize. He had to have her! His entire miserable life had led him to this moment. The thrill of all thrills awaited him, just barely out of his reach. Jove’s sniveling turned into a howl of agony, but the hail of glowing balls didn’t relent.

  Tyrus felt useless. Or perhaps it was helpless? No, it was definitely useless. Kybon’s son lay in a coma, he was a lifelong prisoner now, and according to Kairah and the Vorakk shaman, the world was ending. It was all very, very aggravating.

  And where was Kairah? It’d been days since the Allosian woman had brought them to her tower apartment, afterward excusing herself to go visit someone she said could convince her synod to act. It’d been amusing in a grim sort of way to find Allosian politicians not all that different from their human counterparts: resistant to change, and fully willing to risk the greater good just to preserve the status quo.

  He’d thought Kairah would’ve come back by now to tell them what the next step in their plan to save Jekaran and the world was, but not even the Allosian guards tasked with keeping watch over them knew when she would return. Were they supposed to just wait and do nothing? It seemed wholly inappropriate to be lounging in a garden while the world fell apart. Tyrus had never been a man of action, not like Kybon, but he’d always found some way to solve problems. Right now he couldn’t do anything but wait, and it was maddening.

  Useless!

  He sat in Kairah’s atrium. Like everything else in Allose, it had a grandiose, almost dreamlike quality. It was so thick with greenery that one could forget they were inside a white tower, hundreds of feet above the ground.

  Miraculously, the garden appealed to all five of Tyrus’s senses; flowers painted in hues he’d never seen in nature before with some actually glowing, a symphony of smells that impossibly mixed honeysuckles, spice, and the smell of springtime, the relaxing trickle of a fountain gently pouring into a reflecting pool, sweet air like sugar that actually tickled his taste buds when he breathed it in, and a perfect temperature with a gentle, cool breeze.

  Tyrus closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath through his nose. His usually congested nasal cavity was clear and open, like when he sailed the sea. It felt good, almost as if the air were healing his sinuses. He opened his eyes and shifted on the white stone bench set near the shimmering reflecting pool. A white lily, glowing against a backdrop of green, grew in the center of the garden next to the reflecting pool. For some reason Kairah had ordered Hort to lay Jekaran down on the soft grass in front of the flower.

  Jekaran.

  The boy’s glassy stare was broken only by mechanical blinking. Tyrus slumped his shoulders. As much as he disliked the Allosian healer who’d attempted to restore Jekaran, he’d hoped and prayed for the man’s success. Let the peacock claim all the credit for saving the boy; Tyrus just wanted him to wake from his state of living death.

  The atrium was a popular retreat for the members of his party, and when he was not keeping vigil over Jekaran, someone else would. It wasn’t necessary of course, save to force water and mush down the boy’s throat, or change him when he messed himself–something that Hort claimed responsibility for doing for some reason.

  The big mercenary lay on the ground next to Jekaran, snoring. He as much as Tyrus rarely left Jekaran’s side. It was strange, and when Tyrus had asked for an explanation, Hort had muttered something about once being a healer or an herb master, or some kind of backwater peasant shaman.

  Tyrus glanced around the garden and found the Vorakk talking to a tree with his weird hissing and sign language. No, not a tree. A glow fly? But Tyrus hadn’t ever seen a glow fly that big. It was white and hovered at eyelevel to the lizard man. Then it zipped away and disappeared. No, that was not a glow fly. Tyrus had seen the Vorakk start campfires by summoning similar-sized balls of fire. Was this another display of his strange magic?

  After the floating white orb disappeared, the Vorakk quickly slipped from Tyrus’s view. What’s he up to? He didn’t trust the lizard people, and over the course of their trek to Allose had sleep-deprived Hort by making the mercenary stay awake while he slept in case the creature desired to taste noble blood.

  In spite of his fear of being eaten, or his dedication to keeping watch over his cousin’s son, Tyrus found himself following the Vorakk through the garden. The creature slipped out of the atrium and back into Kairah’s apartment where he approached the chamber door. Tyrus followed, checking his robe pocket for his stun baton.

  The Allosians confiscated their other talises, but left this one with Tyrus. Apparently, the stun baton was human crafted, something the Allosians looked down on. They look down on a lot of things. Tyrus was admonished that as long as he didn’t use the weapon, he’d be allowed to keep it. The Allosian peacekeeper who’d said it made it sound like Tyrus was a child refusing to give up an old stuffed bear. He thought perhaps he was beginning to understand just how his peasants saw him.

  Tyrus followed the Vorakk out of the apartment and into the hall that ran in a circle on their level of the tower. The lizard man disappeared around a bend in the corridor, and Tyrus broke into a jog to catch up. When he rounded the bend, he found the hall empty. Tyrus stopped. Where had the scaly bugger gone? He turned to retrace his steps when a rippling like heat lines in the space in front of him resolved into the Vorakk. Tyrus squeaked and raised his stun baton, but the lizard man slapped it out of his hand before he could discharge the talis. The Vorakk hissed as he loomed over Tyrus.

  “Isk, why little rich human follow Karak?”

  “I don’t appreciate you calling me little.” Tyrus tried to sound indignant, but really his biggest concern was that he didn’t wet himself.

  “Rok!” The Vorakk made a sharp gesture with his claw.

  Tyrus summoned all his courage, such as it was, and straightened. “Where are you going?”

  The Vorakk’s slitted eyes narrowed as it looked down at Tyrus. Then it grinned, showing a maw filled with sharp teeth. “Esk!”

  Tyrus gulped.

  “Reka, little, rich human help Karak?”

  “Help you do what?”

  The Vorakk–Karak–pushed past him and resumed moving through the white hallway. “Save stupid human boy, aka.”

  “You can save Jekaran?” Tyrus bent down and grabbed his stun baton before hurrying up to Karak’s side.

  “Ssk.”

  Tyrus took that for a Vorakk yes. “But how? Even the Allosians couldn’t heal him. Do you have some Vorakk magic that can do it?”

  “Isk, Karak have spirits not magic.”

  “Whatever!” Tyrus took hold of Karak’s forearm and made him stop. “How are you going to save him?”

  The Vorakk looked down at Tyrus’s hand and hissed, at which point Tyrus quickly drew it back. “Karak follow spirits, aek!”

  As though that’d been a comprehensive explanation, Karak conti
nued striding down the hall forcing Tyrus to jog just to keep up. They entered a box-like device that served as a carriage moving up and down the tower’s numerous floors. Though it was less work than climbing stairs, the sudden vertical motion made Tyrus’s stomach flip and bile rose in his throat.

  They reached the ground floor, and Karak strode out of the tower’s lift. A pair of Allosian peacekeepers in their strange winged armor stood stoically flanking each side of the arched entrance.

  “Little, rich human help, reka?”

  “That is why I’m accompanying you.”

  “Then talk to guards, rok,” Karak hissed in a low tone.

  “What?”

  But before Tyrus could protest any further, one of the Allosian guards pointed at them. “Halt.” The peacekeeper sighed. “What is it you need, now?”

  Tyrus looked at Karak for instruction, but the lizard man just hissed. “We, um, were told that we were at liberty to explore your fair city.”

  “Where is Lady Kairah?” The second guard, a female with dazzlingly sapphire hair, asked.

  Are you an Aiestali lord or a sniveling child? Tyrus drew in a deep breath and in his best tone of offended sarcasm said, “I was not aware that Lady Kairah was our wet-nurse. Are we also to suckle at her breasts when we are hungry?”

  The woman guard blinked. “Well she is―”

  “I was told that Allosians treated their captives like guests. I guess all those stories of Allosian enlightened civility were fancy.”

  The man’s perfectly square jaw tightened. “You are free to go where you wish inside the city with the exception of the synod’s coliseum and the College of Disciplines. Only Allosians are permitted there.”

  “That’s better.” Tyrus stepped past the pair of guards and motioned for Karak to follow. “Come, Karak.”

  Tyrus was twenty paces down the street before he exhaled his pent-up breath.

  Karak hissed something that Tyrus thought must be Vorakk laughter. “Little, rich human good talker, esk.”

  “It comes with being noble born.”

  Karak’s hissing laughter grew more intense and Tyrus suspected he was being mocked. “What do the spirits say we are to do now?”

  “Isk, only one spirit. Skinny old human, aka.”

  Tyrus rolled his eyes. “Fine, what does that spirit say we should do?”

  “Go there, aka.” Karak pointed at a white cylindrical building rising several stories above the city skyline.

  “Why? What’s there?”

  “Uska, fey door.”

  Fey door? What was the lizard man talking about?

  They strode down several connecting streets–drawing the attention of every Allosian walking about the city–winding their way toward the cylindrical building. As they drew closer, he considered the writing scrawled in gigantic glowing letters above a massive arched double-door entrance. He knew all three languages spoken in Shaelar, and their differing dialects, but he could sooner count the stars than read what was written on the face of the building.

  They traversed a wide causeway lined by statues spaced evenly on both sides of the white stone path. Some of the statues were broken, and there were gaps in the sequence.

  What happened here?

  More jewel-colored heads turned to appraise them and several Allosians muttered. That’s when Tyrus spotted a symbol above the glowing letters. He knew that glyph. It was the ancient symbol of knowledge. Divine Mother!

  “Karak!” He stopped the Vorakk by grabbing his scaly forearm. Karak hissed at him, but this time Tyrus left his hand in place. “I think that’s the College of Disciplines.”

  Karak shrugged, the motion extricating him from Tyrus’s grip. “Uska, spirit says fey door there.”

  “We’re not allowed in there!”

  Karak took a long look at the building before flashing a toothy grin. “Daka, we climb.”

  “This is madness!” Tyrus whispered.

  Karak resumed walking, but changed directions and led them around the side of the massive structure that itself looked like it ought to have been a column in some giant god’s colonnade. Karak walked up to the building’s rounded base. They stood in the shadow of a large tree, one with a smooth white trunk and translucent golden leaves.

  “Little rich human get on Karak’s back, rok.”

  Tyrus craned his head. The building’s wall was smooth, and the closest window was very, very far up–perhaps a hundred feet. “Can you climb that?”

  “Isk.” Karak hissed and motioned to his back.

  “Someone will see us!”

  Karak smiled and disappeared, leaving only a slight distortion in the air resembling heat lines.

  “That’s all well and good for you, but what about me? You don’t think someone will find it odd to see a human slowly rising on the side of one of the largest buildings in the city?”

  Karak’s blurry outline stooped and picked up a golden leaf from the white tree. As soon as he touched it, the leaf disappeared. Apparently, the Vorakk could veil whatever they touched. It made sense. Otherwise Karak’s loin cloth and medicine bag would remain visible when he was not.

  Tyrus looked up again. He was out of excuses.

  “Aek!” Karak hissed.

  “Fine! Fine!” Tyrus approached Karak’s blurred outline. “Well I can’t very well climb onto your back if I can’t see you.”

  Karak reappeared, crouched down, and motioned at his back with a claw. Tyrus took a deep breath, as if he were going to leap into deep water, and climbed on. Everything turned gray. And although Tyrus could see himself and Karak, the washed-out colors of the world around him signaled they were invisible.

  Karak leapt ten feet straight up, jolting Tyrus and making him tighten his hold on the lizard man. Karak’s claws dug into the stone, and though they didn’t penetrate deep, it was enough to keep them on the wall.

  Karak climbed quickly, scaling the curved surface of the college like a spider. Tyrus made the mistake of looking down as they were halfway up and thereafter had to clench his eyes shut until they were climbing through the open window.

  Tyrus let go of Karak, and the color of the world returned to normal. The screams hit him a heartbeat before the humidity and smell of soap. He spun and nearly fell into one of the steaming bathtubs built into the tiled floor. A half-dozen jewel-haired, and very naked, Allosian women were pointing at him and shouting. One dove under the water of her bathtub while others scrambled out.

  “Oh dear.”

  The sealed chamber miles beneath Rasha was not a secret, as was evidenced by the dozens of chests and barrels stowed in the shadows on the far wall. Someone had used the place to hide their treasures. Mulladin nudged a human skeleton with the toe of his boot. It fell over from its sitting position and clattered to the floor. A metal collar around its neck and manacles on its wrist marked it as a captive or slave. Either he’d been trapped here like they were, by accident, or someone had sent him here to die a slow and painful death.

  Mulladin’s chest tightened and he closed his eyes. He had to get out of here! The darkness pressed in on him, and breathing became more difficult. He’d always been afraid of enclosed spaces, and a particular instance when he’d fallen down a dry well was coming back to him. Fortunately, the emotion didn’t come with the surge that came when other old memories recurred. Perhaps his newly capable mind was settling? Well, that was all fine and good, but it would mean nothing if he died here.

  Mulladin kicked the skull so hard that it split in two, both parts sailing through the air and smashing into the wall. There was that familiar explosion of extra emotion.

  “Stop that,” Keesa called from the dais of the slipgate. She sat on its one step, staring at the rubble that sealed off the room’s only exit.

  Mulladin had tried to cut through the rock with Jek’s sword. While the magic of the blade let it slice through the chunks of stone as though they were made of wood, the effort was futile. There was just too much stone, and they didn’t have the str
ength or means to clear away so much rubble. Slicing into the walls of the chamber had proved equally useless as there were no adjoining chambers. Just miles and miles of rock in all directions, at least, that’s what the sword said.

  “Come over here.”

  Mulladin obeyed, joining Keesa where she sat.

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. The explosion of euphoria and mild arousal helped to mute Mulladin’s rising anxiety and he hooked an arm around Keesa’s waist and pulled her close.

  “You’re claustrophobic, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know what that means,” Mulladin said. Although he was no longer dim, Keesa had a way of making him feel like he was still a simpleton.

  “It means you’re afraid of being trapped, especially in tight spaces.”

  “You’re very educated for a Rikujo thief.”

  Keesa scoffed. “Mother was having me trained to impersonate a noblewoman.”

  “For a scheme?”

  Keesa laughed. “You could call it that.”

  “What?”

  “Mother planned for us to move to Maes Tol, her homeland, where we would start a new life as a widowed noblewoman and her very eligible daughter.”

  “She was going to marry you off?” Heat simmered beneath Mulladin’s words, and he quickly stamped out the rising flame.

  Jealous? Jekaran chuckled.

  How can I be jealous? It was just a plan. There isn’t even a person involved.

  “She wanted me to have a good life, away from the Rikujo and away from Arge…”

  Mulladin shot her a wide-eyed look.

  Keesa rolled her eyes. “My father,” she said, “should he ever return.” She clearly didn’t appreciate having to tiptoe around the subject of Ez just to placate the sword.

  The conversation lulled, and the two of them sat in silence for several minutes. Under other circumstances, the alone time would’ve been romantic.