by Brandon Barr
She might never again communicate with Aven with her fingers, never again feel the devoted love of her brother in a smile or tender embrace. Whether her actions earlier that day had changed his future or not, she had been warned of what would happen.
She knew all along he would be taken from her.
Whisper’s broken wing and the vision she’d had of it in Aven’s hand felt like a fragile hope, but it was enough.
From Winter’s knuckle, Whisper stretched its remaining wing out. The little eye dot near the tip shimmered in the overhead room lights. The joint where the missing wing had attached quivered.
Did she have enough justification to continue believing in the goodness of the Makers?
Yes, thought Winter. More than enough.
Sleep had finally found Winter when a hand stirred her awake. A lightstick glowed beside a sharp-featured face. Arentiss.
“I’m going to the barn to investigate. Would you care to come?”
Winter sat up, her mind slowly rising out the swamp of heavy sleep. The dark portholes lining the wall of her room were still eerie and black. “The barn? Investigate what?”
“The barn Rueik chased Zoecara and Pike into.”
Winter rubbed her eyes. “Can’t we go in the morning, when there’s daylight?”
“The sooner we go, the less chance there is of the scene being tampered with.”
Winter squinted against the bright light of Arentiss’ lightstick. “Tampered with by who?”
Arentiss shrugged. “The farmer who owns the barn or his hired hands. A look at the undisturbed scene is necessary. Are you coming?”
Winter sighed. “All right. Let me find something warm. Are there clothes in these rooms?”
“Yes. They are fully stocked.” Arentiss marched over to a wall panel and slid it sideways, revealing a closet.
Winter put on pants and a shirt that were of a stretchy, insulating fabric. She then grabbed a coat and followed Arentiss through the dimly-lit corridors. A door swooshed open before them. They stepped through into a small room. A small, dark viewscreen filled the opposite wall. There was a control panel in the middle with two seats before it. A warm blue light lit the interior.
“This is one of two exploration vessels the facility has,” said Arentiss. “Very small, easy to miss in the sky.” Winter took a seat beside Arentiss at the control panel. “Hold tight. I’ve never driven this ship.”
Winter gripped the two armrests as the craft jerked forward.
“May I ask you some questions about your culture’s rituals?” asked Arentiss.
Winter frowned, her mind still drowsy. “Of course,” she said.
“As I understand it, you are responsible for finding a wife for your brother.”
“Yes,” said Winter, saddened at the thought. “Since our parents died, the duty is mine.” She paused, remembering her last conversation with Aven on the topic of finding a mate. He’d bought his farm, and she’d promised to find a match for him. She knew it was the only thing he’d needed besides a farm. A good woman to love and create a family with.
The craft broke the surface of the water, and Arentiss leaned back in her chair, one hand on the guiding mechanism. “What qualities are you looking for in a match for Aven?”
Winter sighed. “Does it matter right now? He’s gone.”
“But he could come back,” said Arentiss.
Winter stared forward tiredly. She didn’t understand why this was important right now.
“Tell me,” persisted Arentiss, “what qualities do you look for in a prospective mate?”
“What does it matter to you?” said Winter, not trying to keep her irritation out of her voice.
“If you find me suitable, I would appreciate you choosing me to be Aven’s mate.”
Winter scowled and searched Arentiss’ face for a sign of humor. Considering the circumstances, it felt like a cruel joke. But Arentiss’ eyes were cool and appraising, her lips set in their usual emotionless line.
“I understand I might not be your ideal candidate,” continued Arentiss, “but I promise to work on any qualities in which I am deficient. I’ve come to love your brother.”
Winter’s mouth fell open. “Love my brother? We’ve been here less than a month. You don’t even know him.”
“I know him well enough,” said Arentiss. “Is that a requirement? That a prospective partner know him for an allotted amount of time before you choose them?”
“Well, no,” said Winter. “I’m the one who needs to know the girl before I arrange the marriage.” Winter raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think you love my brother?”
Arentiss paused for a moment, the light of the console casting a blue glow on her serious expression. “Aven is kind, altruistic, tender, modest, ethically-minded, faithful, and loyal. He’s cautious and systematic, yet passionate when protecting those he loves. His most serious negative trait is that he can be obsessive in his devotion, which makes him dependent upon the stability of that to which he is devoted. This potential instability can cause him frustration that leads to negativity and depression. However, I find Aven’s strong points match harmoniously with my own psychological traits, and his weakness is offset by my stability. On my psych evaluation, I received the highest marks possible for both uniformity of thought and self-confidence. I believe he would be supported by my stability, find peace in my uniformity, and take courage in my ability to reason, which manifests as self-confidence.”
Winter said nothing for a moment, overwhelmed by the cascade of words pouring out of Arentiss’ mouth. She’d thought the girl was a bit odd from the beginning, but now…
She shook her head as she scrutinized what Arentiss said. Eerily, it seemed to make sense. But how could Arentiss know all of this about her brother in a matter of weeks?
“When did you learn all this about Aven?” asked Winter.
“I sensed the possibility we were a good match before our mission to retrieve you from Barron Rhaudius. Because of your situation with Pike, Karience gave the Missionaries a brief sketch of your history and an outline of your psych files. Those were key in my seeing him as a potential match from the start. And besides that, I was greatly attracted to him. I eagerly spoke with him at breakfast the very next day after your arrival, hoping to find out if he thought me too old to pursue. If you remember his comment about my hands being like your mother’s on that first day, I was worried that would put an end to any possibility of…mmm…explosive passion between us. By the end of our breakfast I was well relieved, and that is when I knew for certain we were a good match for marriage.”
Explosive passion?
Winter couldn’t help but smile at the phrase.
“Alright,” said Winter. “As Aven’s matchmaker, I still need his opinion on the matter of your marriage to him. It’s customary for both individuals to accept the match. At least, in my family it was.”
“Oh,” said Arentiss. She made a quiet humming sound for a moment, then said, “Since we cannot ask him, might my experiences with your brother convince you that he did have feelings for me?”
“Experiences?” said Winter. “What do you mean?”
“On several occasions your brother defended me in front of others who tried to make light of something I said. And, perhaps more telling, your brother held my hand on several occasions, even stroking my—”
“He held your hand? Stroking your what?”
“Yes, he held my hand. And he stroked my fingers.”
Winter shook her head. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me,” she said, feeling slightly betrayed by her brother, but also quite relieved about what had been stroked.
Winter felt a floating sensation as they descended. Arentiss leaned forward and squinted at the viewscreen.
“Perhaps he felt it wasn’t the right time,” said Arentiss. “You haven’t been feeling well since your return from the portal. I think he might have been waiting until you were better. It is my belief that your illness was not a
matter of physical ailment, but rather because of some serious matter that you find difficult to deal with. I only proffer this because you seem well enough right now, but only last night you weren’t well enough to join us for Aven’s housewarming.”
At first Winter felt angry, but the anger was blown out as Arentiss’ cold calculations churned in Winter’s mind. Arentiss was more accurate than she could have guessed. Between Winter’s own inner wrestling with the Makers and the horrible visions she’d had of Aven and the vicious beast, she had made herself sick with doubts and fears, falling prey to the fierce conversation ever raging in her head.
The ship gave a slight shudder as it touched down. On the viewscreen, Winter saw the shape of a barn in the distance.
“At the very least, I would be honored if you consider me as a candidate for Aven’s wife,” continued Arentiss, filling the silence. “I am eager to answer any questions that would help you come to a decision.” She rose from her chair. “Let’s have a look around, now. See if we can piece together what took place.”
Winter followed Arentiss outside, still reeling from all that had been said. The air was crisp and cold, but she felt warm in the clothing she’d chosen from the sea facility.
A question came to Winter’s mind as they walked through the grass. It was not altogether serious, for it wasn’t really a qualification to marrying her brother so much as a means to see what the brainy up-worlder would say.
“Can you cook?” asked Winter.
“I can’t say that I’ve ever tried,” said Arentiss. “But I know how important female meal-making is in your culture, and let me assure you, whatever I put my mind to, I—”
A bright light suddenly blinded both of them. She put her hands up to shield her face from the powerful beam.
“Who’s there?” came a harsh male voice. Then he spoke again, this time with warmth. “Arentiss? Winter?”
“Lower your light!” called Arentiss. “You’re hurting our eyes.”
“I’m sorry,” said the voice, familiar now. Winter lowered her hands as the beam moved away. Rueik was standing there.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” said Rueik.
Arentiss turned on a light of her own, and Winter followed her as she approached Rueik. “I assume you are here for the same reason as Winter and me,” said Arentiss. “Did you find anything?”
“A little. I’ll show you.”
He led them to the front of the barn and shone his light on the ground. “There. You can see the tire tracks. They stopped here. The problem is I don’t see any sign of a scuffle, though that may be because of how hard the ground is.” He turned his light on a small clump of dirt in a patch of worn grass. “This is the thing I’ve been able to find. It might be something.”
“It’s not,” said Arentiss, squatting on her heels. She touched the clotted dirt. “Too old. More than a day at least.” She stood again and began to inspect the area herself.
Winter noticed Rueik’s head turn to follow Arentiss. Winter stared at the ground where Rueik’s beam still hovered. The dirt and worn grass reminded her of the worn path leading from her old hovel to the road.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Rueik softly.
Winter looked up at him, and in the halo of light that his lightstick created, she saw sympathy in his eyes and a marked reverence. She nodded but said nothing. She found words trite compared to how she felt inside. Silence was language enough.
Rueik momentarily turned his eyes back to Arentiss, who was stooped at the threshold of the barn door, inspecting the ground. Then he looked back at Winter.
“I see the butterfly is in your hair.”
“Yes. Its name is Whisper.”
“Why doesn’t Whisper fly away?”
Winter stiffened, uneasy about sharing the truth of Whisper’s origins with him for some reason. “I don’t know. But ever since I found Whisper, it’s stayed close to me. But recently it lost a wing, so it will never fly again.”
“How long have you had Whisper?”
“Since I was nine.”
“But you’re seventeen,” pressed Rueik, an odd look on his face. “How could a butterfly live that long?”
Winter shrugged, trying to pass it off as nothing. “How long do butterflies live?”
“A year, at most,” said Rueik.
“Perhaps this butterfly is different than the butterflies on your world.”
Rueik looked skeptical, but he said, “It’s possible.” His eyes turned to Arentiss, who was inside the barn, crouching to look at something. “Or maybe your butterfly is more special than you know.” His gaze was intent and probing. “Come on, let’s see what Arentiss has found.” Rueik placed his hand lightly on Winter’s back, urging her forward.
Winter walked toward the barn. The whole way Rueik’s hand remained on her back. There was something strange about it. It was like he was guiding her. Arentiss had moved inside and was on her knees beside a stack of hay bales.
“Find anything?” asked Rueik.
“I see where you fought with Pike,” said Arentiss.
“It’ll be light in another hour,” said Rueik. “Someone will be here soon. We should go.”
Arentiss sighed. “It’s unfortunate the dirt outside is so compacted. Otherwise we might have learned more.”
“Do you think Karience’s theory about Zoecara is possible?” he asked.
Arentiss stood, wrinkling her nose. “Zoecara a Shadowman? It is possible.”
“I think so too,” said Rueik, “even though it feels surreal. I kissed her. To think I might have kissed a Beast’s trained assassin.” He shuddered.
Winter folded her arms across her chest. A Beast’s assassin? If she was going to continue to trust the Makers, as she had decided to earlier, then her path led directly into the domain of a Beast. Perhaps Zoecara had played some part in her destiny…
And the mercenaries, had they played a part as well?
“Let’s go,” said Winter, eager to return to her room where she would have the peace to think.
HEARTH
…as the latest report makes clear, the mountains surrounding Praelothia emanate a raw element that destroys our little beetle machines and prevents us from penetrating the temple itself. We named the element Divinidon in honor of the ever-reclusive Divine King who rarely leaves the temple. Everything behind those oversized gates is a mystery. Few go in, and even fewer come out.
I’ve personally questioned those few who are allowed to come and go into the temple and all are remarkably trained at obfuscating any interesting information that might be had. Danturas, the captain of the king’s armies, is impossible to leech a single tidbit from, and the young priests and priestesses, who come and go on occasion, have given little more.
Four gates, each as large as the monstrous outer gate, section off the inner temple. Beyond that, I know nothing. It is puzzling and unnerving to know that the Cultivators before me could procure no further details. Does this not break faith with the charter? What goes on behind those gates?”
-Transmission from Hezzat, Cultivator of Hearth, to Higelion, Magnus Empyrean of Sector 54
Chapter Eight
MELUSCIA
It was less than a half day’s ride to the small Tanri River that bordered the land between the Blue Mountain Realm and the Verdlands. Once past the river, it was not hard to find the markings of devastation upon the land. Fields burned, along with the homes that had housed the farmers and their hired hands. What had happened to the Verdlands farmers and their families, Meluscia could only guess.
They had not traveled more than an hour beyond the Verdlands border before a horn sounded in the distance. Kaolin raised his hand in the air, bringing their party to a halt.
Meluscia drew her horse up beside her guide. “Is it King Feaor’s soldiers?”
“Yes. They may mistake us for a raiding party.”
“How do we convince them otherwise?”
Anger flashed within the black pupi
ls of Kaolin’s eyes. “We can dismount…that is the clearest message that we do not intend to fight. But I am not sure the Verdlands soldiers will care. They may only be out for blood.”
A cloud of dust rose at the top of the road and then the first wave of the Verdlands horsemen traversed the hill. They poured down the road toward Meluscia’s party like a committee of vultures arriving at a feast. The Verdlands horsemen were at least twice their number, and the speed with which they charged hinted at their intent.
“Do as you suggested, Kaolin,” said Meluscia. “Order your men to dismount. Keep my two maidservants mounted, as well as the group of prophets. That way they’ll see there are women, children, and the elderly among us.”
Kaolin spat and turned, shouting the commands.
The riders were nearly upon them when Meluscia rode out from her party.
“Are you mad?!” shouted Kaolin, but his voice was just distant noise as Meluscia raced out in front.
She pulled on the reins, turning her horse to stand across the road. Her heart was pounding as she raised her hands in the air, palms open. The charging horsemen slowed at the last moment, several surrounding her, swords and spears flashing about in well-armored hands.
A stout, handsome-faced man rode up before her. He had a short-trimmed beard beneath passionate green eyes.
“I am Solvig, nephew of the King and captain of the Vale Brigade. You are trespassing on the King’s farmland.” Solvig jerked the reins of his horse. His red cloak flashed under the glare of sunlight. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t put to the sword every man in this party and take the women back to the King’s castle for questioning?”
Meluscia’s neck burned at Solvig’s threat. The red-cloaked man appeared young for a leader. Perhaps five years older than herself. He trotted his horse away from her, moving swiftly toward her party, and as he did, she noticed that nearly every soldier who’d accompanied her had their hand on the grip of their sheathed sword, ready to draw and fight.
“Who is your leader?” Solvig demanded.