The Inner Circle: The Knowing

by Cael McIntosh

Seteal existed several strides above her body, diligently keeping a keen eye on the tendrils of frozen air that whipped about the river boat. Her body had been covered in blankets right up to the chin and El-i-miir huddled beside it beneath one of her own. Seteal couldn’t very well feel the cold in her present state, but judging by the colour of her lips, the temperature could not have been very pleasant.

  ‘To your left.’ Seteal squeezed the words out through uncooperative lips.

  ‘Get away!’ El-i-miir shouted at the men working portside. They abandoned their duties and scurried starboard. A cold arm bit at the timber, coating it with a fresh layer of ice before snatching back away. Seteal gave the all-clear and the men returned to work.

  Throughout the day, the streams of frozen air continued their assault on Captain Waxnah’s riverboat, but as the distance increased between themselves and the frozen centre, the danger steadily lessened. It’d been at least half an hour since the most recent attack and Seteal was growing tired, the temperature having taken a toll on her body which shivered uncontrollably.

  In an attempt to distract herself, Seteal took a moment away from her duties and drifted over to the female crewmember she’d noticed earlier. The woman was pretty, with blue eyes and a charming smile. She worked as hard or harder than any of the men, which was probably why Waxnah had accepted her as part of the crew. The woman laughed at a joke made by one of the men. It was a nice laugh, both genuine and warm.

  Seteal gasped as the cold pinched at her soul, a warning of what was to come. She spiralled away from the woman, but it was too late. A frozen tendril streaked toward the back of the boat. ‘Stern.’ The word burst up from Seteal’s chest as she thrust forward her spirit with such force that time slowed down around her.

  The frozen air sat silently just a handswidth from a crewman’s face. He was smiling, perhaps having heard the same joke as the female crewmember. Seteal sighed within herself as the tendril crawled through time toward the man’s face. Why couldn’t she have stopped time completely? Why couldn’t she reverse it? Why had she been so selfish that she’d cost this man his life? When she re-entered the ordinary flow of time the tendril would certainly take his life. He was already dead.

  If Seteal had had a mouth she’d have screamed as the strip of frozen air made contact with the man’s forehead. A small circle of flesh lost its colour. From there the circle grew as the tendril penetrated. There was no time for a change of expression. His smile seemed to mock Seteal for her incompetence. The man would die so quickly that he would never even know what had transpired. Why Seteal felt she had to watch the process in all its painful glory escaped her entirely, but perhaps it was a means by which to punish herself.

  The man’s jaw dislocated and his throat ruptured. Shards of flesh broke away. Seteal cried out to eternity, but still she refused to hide from his death. She had done this to him. Seteal felt his heart’s final beat. She knew when his brain ceased to function. She felt the blood stop moving through his veins. And she fell backward into her body, where she began to scream.

  The crewman hit the deck and cracked into pieces that quickly became bloody mush. ‘It’s my fault,’ Seteal cried. ‘It’s all my fault!’

  ‘No,’ El-i-miir comforted her as some of the crew scurried over to tend to the crewman’s remains. ‘You’ve saved countless lives today. We all knew the risks.’

  ‘No,’ Seteal sobbed. ‘You don’t understand. I was distracted. I let him down.’

  ‘Are there anymore?’ Far-a-mael rushed over and snatched at Seteal’s arm. Master Fasil drove her face into the mud and thrust himself into her.

  ‘Get off me,’ Seteal shrieked, shoving Far-a-mael away before stumbling to the side of the boat. ‘Get away from me, you monster.’

  ‘Stop this, girl.’ Far-a-mael pursued her, but wasn’t foolish enough to lay hands on her a second time. ‘Are there anymore?’

  ‘No,’ Seteal sniffled. ‘That was the last one. Now leave me the torrid alone or so help me, Maker, I’ll make you regret it.’

  Far-a-mael gaped at her in astonishment. All the same he respected her request and did not follow as Seteal raced down into the hold. There she found what she’d known she would, but had hoped she wouldn’t. Darra and the other horses were dead. Their eyes were glazed over, their mouths twisted in agony.

  ‘Oh, Darra,’ Seteal sobbed, tears flowing down the side of her face as she entered the holding pen and wrapped her arms around the animal’s cold, soggy neck. ‘I’m so sorry.’