The Lure of Fools

by Jason James King

  She reached out to take the emerald, but hissed and snapped her hand back. It was cold. So cold that it burned her fingers.

  “What is it Maely?”

  “Try healing him again.”

  “But, if I―”

  “Do it!” Maely snapped.

  The emerald lit back up.

  “Stop!”

  The emerald’s glow dimmed and faded away.

  Maely grabbed the leather thong and snapped it off the back of Raelen’s neck. Then she lifted the emerald shard off Raelen’s chest. “Try it now.”

  “Remarkable,” Empyrean exclaimed. “The flows are no longer inhibited.”

  Maely watched as Raelen’s color changed from glossy pale white to the warm peach color that was his regular skin tone. His cuts faded, and the yellow pus around the hole in his shoulder evaporated as his flesh knitted back together.

  Maely glanced down at Raelen’s hand where he’d lost all of his fingers. They didn’t grow back. “Why aren’t his fingers growing back?”

  “They are, it is just taking an inordinate amount of time and disproportionate level of power to restore them.”

  “Leave them,” Raelen rasped.

  Maely was so startled that she dropped the emerald to the floor.

  The glow orbs of Empyrean’s healing chamber flickered.

  “Something is draining my Apeiron charge at an increasing rate.”

  Maely quickly picked up the emerald, forgetting to hold it by the leather cord, and yelping at the intense cold. She nearly dropped it a second time before she collected herself.

  “It is an anti-Apeira shard. It devours Apeiron instead of producing it.” Raelen sat up. “Jenoc made it. Like he made the one that destroyed Aiested.”

  Maely stared at Raelen and then, remembering herself, she tried to curtsy. “My prince.”

  Raelen scoffed. “Don’t call me that.” He lifted himself out of the restoration bed, and stood.

  That’s right. His father died.

  “Sorry, I meant my king.”

  He stood and rolled his newly healed shoulder. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then…”

  He placed his fingerless hand on her shoulder and flashed a tired smile. “Raelen will do.”

  Maely bobbed her head.

  “If the world doesn’t come crashing down around us, then maybe I’ll be king. But of what I’m not certain. The capital is in ruins and my largest army has been annihilated.”

  Maely felt sick. Raelen hadn’t been able to stop the talis war after all–the war she helped Jenoc start. All those soldiers were dead because of her.

  “Haeshala won the battle?” She choked back a sob.

  Raelen shook his blonde head. “No. I’m fairly sure Jenoc wiped them out too. At least, the ones that didn’t join him.”

  Now Maely was really confused. “I thought Jenoc wanted us to fight Haeshala and wipe each other out? Doesn’t he hate humans? Why would he want them to join him?”

  Raelen took the emerald shard from Maely by the leather band and bundled it back into the dirty piece of cloth that had fallen free. “It’s a long story.” He glanced around the white room. “But I can see I’m not the only one with tales to tell. What’s happened since our parting?”

  “It’s a long story.” Maely smirked.

  Raelen grinned. “Thank you, Maely, for rescuing me and bringing me here. Wherever here is.”

  “You are onboard the Allosian airship Empyrean.”

  Raelen glanced around. “Who is that?”

  “It’s Empyrean,” Maely answered. “He’s kinda stupid, but he means well.”

  “I can hear you, Maely.”

  Raelen laughed. “The airship talks? The White Hawk couldn’t do that.”

  Maely pictured the much smaller craft Jenoc had used to fly off the palace tower in Aiested. “Empyrean is a lot more,” she hesitated. “What was the word you used?”

  “Sophisticated.”

  “Yeah, that.” Maely walked out of the healing chamber and back into Empyrean’s circular command center. “More so than other Allosian airships. At least that’s what he says.”

  “I did not spend eight hundred years half buried in the ground and rebuilding myself to be so ill-treated.” Empyrean actually huffed.

  “And he’s really sensitive.”

  Raelen laughed again. It was good to hear him laugh. Maely thought it sounded brave for some reason.

  The prince touched the metal band encircling his bicep. “Is Gryyth here? Without an Apeiron charge, I can’t feel him through my transference band.”

  Maely’s smile disappeared.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She sniffed and focused on the wall, not able to meet Raelen’s eyes. What was she supposed to tell Raelen? That his friend and protector, the one who’d practically raised him and instilled in him the Ursaj sense of morality, had drank poison and killed himself? All because a talking flower told him to?

  “He didn’t make it,” she said.

  Raelen unconsciously touched his transference band. “He succumbed to his burns?” His voice was thick and unsteady. It made Maely want to start sobbing again.

  Strong and brave though he was, there was a peculiar, almost childlike vulnerability to the prince–an innocence. Not naiveté, or any lack of understanding, but a simple goodness. He comprehended the world, but at the same time hadn’t partaken of the ubiquitous cynicism Maely had seen everywhere she went. She couldn’t bring herself to hurt him.

  “Yes,” she lied.

  Tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them away and tightened his jaw. His whole hand clenched tightly into a fist, and he emitted a very Ursaj-like growl. “The White Hawk had a built-in weapon talis–one that shot lightning. Do you have something like that, Empyrean?”

  “I am afraid not.”

  “Sophisticated my ass,” Maely said. And immediately her eyes grew wide and she shot a glance at Raelen. Had she really said that in front of the crown prince of Aiestal? Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice or care.

  “I am not a warship, Maely. My primary purpose is to facilitate transit of Allosian dignitaries.”

  “You have no ability to fight?” Tendons in Raelen’s neck were bulging and his fair complexion reddened.

  He blames Jenoc for Gryyth’s death.

  “I can mimic and project a weapon talis’s effect so that it manifests outside myself. This mechanism can also magnify the specific talis’s function and power.”

  “Are you carrying any such talises?” Raelen glanced around the circular, white chamber.

  “I am not. I apologize.”

  Maely glanced at the strange wavy sword with red metal blade. “What about that? What does it do?”

  “It’s a flare kris. It casts explosions of fire and burns when it cuts.” Raelen stooped and took up the sword. “But it has no charge.”

  “That will not be a problem,” Empyrean said.

  Raelen met Maely’s eyes. “You can charge talises?”

  “Sadly, no. Talis to talis Apeiron transfers are not possible. However, a talis does not need an Apeiron charge for me to discern the spells woven into the weapon, and so I can still mimic its functions and magnify its effects.”

  “That’s incredible,” Raelen said.

  “Don’t do that,” Maely said.

  “Do what?”

  “Feed his ego.”

  Empyrean sighed again.

  Raelen lifted the red sword up to eye level and scrutinized its dark well shard. “You told me back in Aiested that you had a score to settle with Jenoc.”

  Heat ignited inside Maely’s chest. Yes, she did want revenge on the man who had burned Gryyth, violated her mind, and used Maely to further his evil designs. More than the sword, he was at the center of all the misfortune that’d befallen her. Raelen said he’d also been the one to destroy the Apeira well in Aiested, causing all the suffering and death and that evil withering wind that devoured Aiested’s refugees.<
br />
  “Yes, I do.”

  Raelen met her eyes. “Well it’s time to make him pay for all the sorrow he’s wrought. I’m going to kill him, and you’re going to help me.”

  Maely smiled.

  Graelle stared at the beautiful, white flower growing in the center of Lady Kairah’s garden. She wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light, or if the flower was actually glowing. Either way it was one of the most beautiful specimens of decorative flora she’d ever seen. She had a garden too, back in Imaris. Nothing anywhere near as grand as this, but she took pride in it. She’d always had a garden.

  Many people turned to family, friends, or Rasheera for comfort during hard times. Well, Graelle’s one living sister had long ago shunned her, the few friends she had made over the years often lived very brief lives, and Rasheera… well, the goddess never had answered her prayers. Graelle always supposed that was because she was a whore–that’s what the monks said anyway. She’d gone to a monk once, seeking absolution and a chance at a better life. It actually hadn’t been all that long ago, maybe fifteen years. Upon finding out what her profession was, he’d wanted a sampling. No, the goddess was a lie. Just like every altruistic notion and silly promise of a life beyond without pain and sorrow. Reality was just a cruel accident.

  At least that’s what she’d believed until a few weeks ago. Now she wasn’t so sure, and her confusion was all because of the chubby, white-haired man trundling his way over to her, holding a plate of fruit.

  Irvis groaned as he sat down on the soft grass next to her. “I’m starting to think,” he popped a grape into his mouth, “I might be getting old.”

  Despite her gloomy mood, Graelle couldn’t resist a chuckle and suddenly life didn’t feel quite so hopeless. That was the kind of effect Irvis had on her.

  “You’re what? Fifty?”

  Irvis popped a second grape into his mouth and then proffered the tray to her. “Fifty-eight.”

  Graelle took a wedge of red fruit peppered with small white seeds. “Well, you have a young face.”

  Irvis set the tray on the ground between them. “That’s why I was able to win the heart of a beautiful woman scarcely past her thirtieth year.”

  Graelle playfully swatted him on the shoulder. “If you’re going to flatter a woman about her age, at least make your false compliment believable. Else it sounds like you’re mocking.”

  Irvis’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t…I mean…I would never…”

  Graelle rolled her eyes, but turned away so he couldn’t see her smile. “You don’t know much about women, do you?”

  “I know a lot about women,” he huffed, then added, “About their bodies anyway…guess I don’t know so much about what goes on inside them.”

  “That sounded kinda dirty,” Graelle said.

  Irvis laughed. “It kind of does.”

  He pulled her close, and she snuggled up to him, and they sat in silence for several minutes enjoying the fruit and the ambience of Kairah’s incredible garden.

  Irvis continued to surprise her. She’d thought for sure that when Argentus died, he’d have drawn inward to grieve. While he had been subdued, and inclined to random bouts of crying, Irvis retained his native cheerfulness, often making jokes, mostly at the expense of himself. She’d asked him about it and was surprised at his answer.

  “I know Argentus’s soul lives on, and one day I’ll see my friend again.”

  Despite his lascivious inclinations, Irvis was a true believer in the Divine Mother. A contradiction that Graelle found earnest instead of hypocritical. In a strange way, it was refreshing. He’d been completely forthcoming about his past indiscretions, but hadn’t displayed any of the behavior he’d confessed to. He’d given up his monk’s robe to Lady Kairah to afford her some modesty on their trek from Aiested. And though Graelle kept watching, she had yet to catch him staring at the perfect specimens of proudly displayed Allosian femininity that existed all about them. He didn’t even look when one Allosian woman bent over right in front of him, unwittingly offering Irvis a pristine view of her perfectly sculpted backside.

  He hadn’t even made any attempts to take advantage of Graelle herself, which also was refreshing. He respected her in a way that no man ever had, even tried to be a better man to impress her. Impress her! A former whore and now a whoremonger. A woman who’d long ago given up on worshipping or even believing in the divine.

  Her reflexive cynicism kept trying to assert itself and explain away his chivalrous behavior as a ploy to lull her into trusting him so he could use her body like so many others had. But each time she started believing that, one look into his chubby round face and his honest eyes quashed such suspicions. Irvis, for all his faults, was genuine.

  She found herself lying in his lap letting him stroke her gray hair. “Why?” Her voice was quiet, but in the peacefulness of the garden, it still sounded loud.

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you love me?”

  His gentle stroking lost its steady rhythm, and he froze.

  “It’s okay if you don’t have an answer.” She closed her eyes as he resumed stroking her hair.

  “No, I do.” He spoke with a confidence she’d only heard in his tone when he preached about the goddess.

  She opened her eyes, surprised once more by this strangely incongruous man. Faithful but lustful, attractive though homely, and confident even in his self-effacing humility.

  “What is it then?”

  Irvis didn’t respond for a long time, and Graelle was about to ask again when he said, “Do you see that white flower?”

  Graelle glanced at the glowing lily. “It’s beautiful–has magic for certain.”

  “It’s called a Spirit lily,” Irvis said. “They’re extremely rare, and grow only near an Apeira well. You see, they drink in Apeiron instead of sunlight and water.”

  That explained the flower’s other-worldly appearance.

  “Some people believe that you can commune with the souls of your lost loved ones through a Spirit lily, but my brotherhood deems that heretical superstition. Yet, there are those even among the monks of Rasheera who claim to have heard a voice speaking to them through the flower.”

  Graelle turned her head to look up at Irvis. “They talk?”

  He nodded. “I was intrigued by this, and so made a study of it under the guise of trying to understand doctrines that led the Divine Mother’s children away from her. My research was well received, and I was charged with investigating such a case in a village north of Rasha. While I was expected to evaluate the supernatural claims being made by the villagers and even one acolyte, the brethren primarily wanted me to quash the stories, teach, and correct the people, and if necessary destroy the flower.”

  Graelle scoffed and turned her head back to let Irvis resume stroking her hair. “Intolerant zealots.”

  “Perhaps. But the monks mean well. And we…” he choked back a sob “…they do a lot of good, healing the sick and caring for the poor.”

  Graelle didn’t comment any further. Before she met Irvis, she’d considered all ecclesiastical authorities dogmatic tyrants at worst, and manipulative hypocrites at best. But she knew how much Irvis loved his religion and also how it pained him to now be an outcast.

  “When I got to the village, after meeting their elder who, though my age, had a young and extraordinarily attractive wife with perfect breasts and…”

  Graelle pointed and cleared her throat.

  Irvis chuckled. “Right. My apologies. Their elder took me to see the flower. It’d grown under a tree in the midst of a manicured garden the villagers said had appeared on its own. I didn’t find an Apeira well, but guessed it was some hundreds of feet underground as my purification ring recharged.

  “Next, I interviewed the villagers who claimed the Spirit lily had spoken to them. There were two dozen or so, but I was able to winnow that down to just a handful of people who weren’t telling tales or seeking attention. One in particular, an old woman, impressed me th
e most. She said the flower had spoken to her as with the voice of a child, reassuring her that her recently departed husband’s soul lived on. This is remarkable because the old woman had heard the Spirit lily call to her as she was shuffling out of the village at night on her way to leap off a nearby ravine, so lonely and grief-stricken she had become.”

  “But it wasn’t her husband that spoke to her?” Graelle glanced to the far side of the glowing white flower where the boy, Jekaran, lay on the grass, the muscular mercenary sitting cross-legged next to him.

  “No. And that’s one of the reasons it caught my attention.” His hand stopped stroking her hair, but he left it gently resting on her temple. “Most of the others reported dead children and wives and even the spirit of an old king speaking to them, telling them all sorts of nonsensical things like where to find buried treasure, or telling them they should lead the village, or leave their wife–all of it self-serving garbage talk. But this old woman’s account rang true. It stood out much like this flower stands out against its backdrop of green.”

  “Poetic.”

  Irvis snorted in response, which somewhat ruined the effect. “I determined that the flower could not be anything evil, for it provided beauty, life, and peace. The three cardinal Rasheeran tenants that describe the Divine Mother.

  “Now, I mentioned the elder’s wife for a reason. While on this mission I was taken by one of my lustful moods. As always, I fought it for a time, but before I knew it, I was sneaking around the elder’s home at night, trying to catch his beautiful wife… in an immodest moment.”

  Graelle smiled. Though Irvis was honest about his failings, he still couched them in tactful language in an attempt to minimize their seriousness.