Trip the Starlight Sarcastic

Star Keeper Novel I

Bridget Hawley

Midnight Born Books

Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

20. Chapter 20

21. Chapter 21

22. Chapter 22

23. Chapter 23

24. Chapter 24

25. Chapter 25

26. Chapter 26

27. Chapter 27

28. Chapter 28

About Author

Copyright © 2023 by Midnight Born Books

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any

form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or
mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except
as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Midnight Born
Books.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are
fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places,
buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

ISBN: (Hardback) 979-8-9882182-1-0

ISBN: (Paperback) 979-8-9882182-0-3

First Edition 2023

For my husband. Thank you for running hot. My feet are freezing.
The only thing that you absolutely have to know, is the location of the library.

—Albert Einstein

Chapter one

Was there a particular moment? Well, yes and no. Looking back, I guess you could
say that my life took an improved turn when I found myself engulfed in flames.
That, or when I was trippin’ balls in the cosmos, or clumsily planet hopping like
the newborn galaxy ender that I was— am.

Scratch that last one. Traveling stresses me out.

In all honesty, the moment that truly made me see that elusive light at the end of
the tunnel, was when I realized that particular passageway was more of a rabbit
hole and I had to jump in and actually participate in life. But jump I did not. I
fell. All because of him. And once again, it started with me cautiously observing.

Okay sure, spying and not minding my own business was a more accurate description.
But I remember it clearly: holed up as usual in the only place that I truly felt
safe and calm, TreValla’s library, I alone watched. From my familiar vantage point
among the third floor’s books, I observed the show easily without having to hide my
fascination and glee. Not that my robe showed much facial or body expression at
all, but I felt at ease not having to bury my hood in pages while surreptitiously
trying to watch the reprimand.

In reality, not all of them were so convenient. I nearly fell off the top of a
rolling ladder once when I heard a sickly patron sneeze, only to catch a glimpse of
him being attacked by the very same book he showered his germs with. Needless to
say, the hall of learning here didn’t get very much traffic. Ever. It was perfect.

With a height that appeared ungainly, swollen joints suggesting rheumatism, and
milky silver eyes under a pair of small readers, the male was spectacular. And no,
not in a hot way. In a fascinatingly intelligent, lethal way. The best way. He
rounded the dark corner with speed and surprising efficiency, his trajectory
zeroing in on the offending party. The hall’s imposing hourglass and empty scholar
desks residing on the atrium floor far below were cast in a warm, diffused light
coming from the glass above. The suspended Vahlen crystals hummed faintly. Apart
from that, the library was in shadow as usual. The books at rest.

Seemingly. I knew better.

“You must be barely literate. Remove yourself from Vahlta Hall, Sir Ptero,” the
keeper snapped, choosing to speak in Falk. His words echoed up to me.

Covering my mouth with my hand, I snickered. For the past month or so I had been
sleeping. Yes. Comatose-like sleeping. It happened from time to time. For this to
take place on my first day back after an episode? Glorious.
“Excuse me?” Casting shocked eyes over his shoulder, the male flinched.

The librarian, taking his gaze uncaringly off the patron, took two precise steps
toward the adjacent towering bookcase, pulled out an improperly placed tome, and
adjusted its position by filing it three spaces to the right. Books were his
priority.

“My words were clear. The rules of attending this hall are centrally posted. You
will recompense what you took by removing yourself now and forever, along with your
entire familial line. They will not be welcome.”

“Well, what appears clear are the rumors—that these books are worthless!” Waving
the large printed volume haughtily in front of the librarian, he asked, “This is
your answer to the history of mahdra? Tales told by decrepit men and the lesser
children’s stories? Not only that,” he sneered, looking at the worn spine, “hand-
me-downs from your poor cousins working the docks in the lower?” Dropping the book
flippantly, he huffed.

Arms over the polished blackwood railing, eyes riveted, I wished I had a snack.
Which, of course, was absurd. Dropping crumbs here, even unintentionally, carried
the risk of consequences that the joy of stuffing my face didn’t trump. I watched
on, sans popcorn, or whatever the hell they called the fluffy orb things that
smelled like spicy fire.

Not that I had eaten much since I arrived on Haell. Or at all. Well, ordering
anything with the current challenges I faced had proved problematic, to say the
least.

Swaying my feet as I balanced on the railing, I peered down while keenly listening
to the bumptious jackass relentlessly complain. Food difficulties aside, I was
thankful for my sisterly enhanced eyesight, as well as my fairly recently gifted
ability to effortlessly read, understand, and speak any language in the known
universe. Handy, that. Especially when the third floor here was more like the
eighth on most buildings. A bit nosebleed up here.

With a surprised and offended utterance, I recognized the uniquely embellished

cover of the book he had so carelessly tossed. Informative and unique, it provided
a much larger cultural perspective on the origin, integration, and manipulation of
mahdra among all races of Haell. Mahdra, being the magic that only a select few
could wield on the planet Haell—mostly those of the Sahven race, think snobbery and
elves. But in some cases, people of the other races were gifted. Usually not with
as much power as the lofty Sahven, but enough to write a history of it from the
perspective of all Haell’s people.

Well, minus the Sahven’s viewpoint. Their books, I assumed, were under guard in the
ancient, gilded, and heavily fortified properties of the Upper.

But I digress. The discarded volume here lying so forlornly on the marble floor was
one of the first I had picked up and read when I discovered Vahlta Hall. Pretty
sure it was a starting point for many scholars’ research. Pretty sure only a moron
chucked a book simply because it was old. Along those lines, positive there were
going to be repercussions.

Projecting calm, the librarian—or Keeper, as they were called here on Haell—turned
and visually took Sir Ptero in, head to toe. His cataract eyes were eerily
piercing, strategizing, even from up here.

“You look blind old man, but your patrons have no idea, do they? Your eyes see
everything,” I murmured, right as the keeper spoke emotionlessly.
“Worthless books you need to rip pages out of? Interesting. Tell me, the Pteros, a
shipping family with most of their wealth invested in the lower, were recently
elevated, were they not?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It would seem that as a
distant relation to the Upper with, tenuous ties at best to the Sahven,” he said,
while casting a meaningful look at Sir Ptero’s short, obviously dyed black hair—
hair evidently meant to emulate the long, luxurious locks of the proud Sahven, “you
would want to remain in good standing. Research in basic mahdra is only natural
considering your, challenges.”

“How dare you—”

The keeper waved his hand in dismissal as he interrupted, “Daring is unnecessary

here. No need to dredge up courage for one such as you. You waste my time.” Calmly
folding his gnarled hands, turning precisely, he stated, “You have stolen. Remove
yourself.”

“You—you have no proof! You cannot forbid nor deny my family anything! You’re just
a worthless keeper, only scraping by because of your wealthy benefactors! Your
mahdra is not even your own and I personally know those exact people who will
recall their misplaced charity after they hear of your appalling, uningratiating,
d-d-disobedience!” Ptero continuing to debate, followed the keeper closely.

I stretched my neck outward. This guy had no clue. Maybe other keepers were weak,
dependent on others. Not this one. If the city of TreValla thought they owned
Vahlta Hall and controlled their Keeper, they were in for a surprise one of these
days. Especially if the bigwigs ever stepped foot in the place…which never
happened. With its exterior moderately sized and blending stately with other
buildings around it, Vahlta Hall bent physics and manipulated mahdra so
unfathomably well on the inside that its cavernous, imposing blackwood bookcases
and polished onyx-like columns were a mind trip for anyone. Pretty sure the growth
of this place would catch them off guard. And it was all because of its Keeper.

“You serve me! The book was nonsense and trash and I demand a—”

“You are under the law of the Keeper of Vahlta Hall and have been judged. See your
way out. Now.” The Keeper kept walking, his posture regal as he didn’t dignify the
patron’s protestations by turning around.

Ptero eventually stopped, his mouth gaping open and shut, perhaps aghast at the
badassery.

I snorted. Loudly. It echoed.

Flinching yet again, the portly male peered around and then glanced up, eventually
catching sight of my small, blackened form wrapped in the robes of the rejected.
Head recoiling backward as if slapped, he sputtered, “Vrekking filth—you and this
vrekking hall!”

“Good one,” I said under my breath. But dang, so much for going unnoticed.

Muttering to himself in outrage, stomping to the vestibule leading to the grand

double doors, he continually adjusted his fine vest and overcoat as if that was his
only problem and fixing it would erase the shade that had been expertly thrown at
him. Poor coat. I wondered if it ever imagined that it would swathe the girth of
such a douche.

Leaning out, because I sure as hell wasn’t going to miss this, my grip tightened.
Then I quickly let up and stood straight. I needed to readjust. If the people of
Haell weren’t so damn tall, I would have been able to manage more of a bend over
the irritatingly high railing. Gathering my cumbersome robes, I hopped up while
getting the rail on my hips and carefully secured a foot under the equally high,
nearby desk. Extending my five-and-a-half-foot self, I cantilevered for all that it
was worth. If I knew anything about the Keeper here at Vahlta Hall, it wasn’t over.

Sir Ptero was nearly to the exit when I witnessed it. Precariously planking three
floors above, my jaw dropped as I looked down and watched the massive stone statue
on the right of the doorway—one, which I might add, was part of a flanking pair,
both having been perched unassumingly on their pedestals for as long as I had been
going here, two years at this point—come to life cracking its neck casually as it
fluffed its stone wings as if in preparation for a brawl.

Or maybe not. It could have just yawned. Either way never had seen this before.

And speaking of not seeing things, Sir Ptero was oblivious to the new development.
With a belching, guttural heave, spelled molten lava ascended the stone neck of the
monster statue, performed an arc of neon red, and proceeded to rain down on Sir
Ptero’s head with popping, sizzling accuracy.

Naturally, as one would, he began screaming. Flailing.

“Holy shivit!” I watched, stunned, as he spun around in agony and panic. Ripped,
stolen papers burst from his pockets, fleeing their captor to avoid the heat.
Raptly, I stared as he ran full on, his hands attempting to put out the resulting
fire while crashing into the door, brutally slamming his face on the ornate
carvings. Dropping, Sir Ptero was out cold. His nose a crushed, bloody mess—the
stolen pages floating lightly to the floor.

I was breathless. Bravo. I had just watched a master at work and he didn’t even
have to be present as he had a gigantic stone minion doing the work for him. With a
sucking hiss, the cranial fire instantly extinguished just as Ptero’s crumpled self
unconsciously belched, his dyed hair singed to nothing.

Funny, in a city of nearly all bald citizens you would think that that wasn’t such
a big deal—being suddenly bare up top. Considering the different races in the city
of TreValla, having zero hair should not have amounted to anything, especially if
you had horns, gills, or claws—which many of the people did, in fact, have. But of
course, the Sahven had waist-length raven hair on pure ivory skin, and if you
wanted to live anywhere above the lower, emulating the Sahven and their perfect
form was just what you did. Apparently going as far as dying one’s meager fingertip
lengths.

At least he didn’t paint his skin. “Tacky and desperate, though,” I murmured, still
gazing down, transfixed.

Continuing to hold my extended self out from the railing to finish today’s awesome
episode of life at Vahlta Hall, which, I might add was infinitely better than the
old vids I was relegated to in my past life, I got a whiff of singed hair. Reality
at its finest. Watching with enthusiasm, I spied the griffin-like beast move lazily
while grinding its stone talons on the pedestal. With less exuberance displayed
than before when it hacked up fire, it grudgingly hauled its large self and jumped
down. With a crack, the hall reverberated.

I guess cleaning up was less fun for him? Her? I was just going to call it a him.
Feeling some of the mahdra flowing around the beast, I knew it derived from the
Keeper.

The dark green, marble-like stone floor continued to fracture under the griffin’s
feet causing more echos throughout the hall as it sauntered down dragging its
wings, snatching Sir Ptero’s pant leg with its talon. It yanked. Twirling like a
drunken sea star on the richly polished floor, the finely dressed book abuser and
his splayed limbs eventually stopped, still smoking a bit on the scalp.

I smirked.

With both doors cleared of a cumbersome body, they formally opened on their own.
The griffin, once again, clamped on a pant leg and twirled the page ripper out with
more airtime this go around. A flesh-flying disc. Frustratingly enough, my field of
vision ended. It was left up to my imagination whether Sir Ptero landed on the
cobbled street underneath the soon-to-be-darkened, dusky sky of TreValla’s
twilight, safe and relatively unharmed sans hair, or in a horse—sorry, draven
patty.

I was hoping for the draven shivit.

“Seeing as you have read all the written tomes exploring the guarded Xyclanov and
their clan law, including the Falk and PyRoch tribunal scrolls, are you now wanting
to re-read for a third time any Sahven procedural or legal volumes?”

Caught spying, heart instantly pounding, my head slowly turned back to eye the
Keeper of books himself. He raised a hairless brow. My hold slipped. My foot
dreadfully lost its counterbalance.

With a scrambling yelp, I fell completely over the daunting edge. Swimming my arms
frantically, my reject robe began to wrap me in its excess folds through the
rushing air, blinding me to my agonizing fate. But just as I prepared myself for
the inevitable crushing of every bone in my soon-to-be pulp body, a brush of mahdra
fluttered at my shoulders. I flipped and then slowed.

But not by much.

Landing on my back, my head hit with a resounding crack. The massive grim reaper-
like hood did nothing to soften the fall, not that I really expected it to. Even
so, it was doing its best to smother me, since clearly, the crash hadn’t killed me.
Apparently the cursed fabric felt the need to compensate.

Not that much could—kill me, that is.

Chapter two

Taking a moment to slowly catch my breath, shaking my head to displace the heavy
cloth, I groaned at the movement. With my field of vision somewhat free, I gazed
dazedly, blinking at the nauseating kaleidoscope of the stained glass dome from
above. Its lazy, fading light cast itself out onto the central columns and painted
them in a muted, dizzying waltz of color that churned my stomach, piercing my
occipital lobe.

Breathtaking.

Probably due to the internal damage.

Zeroing in, my splotchy vision adjusted and focused three exaggerated stories up as
my hero looked nonchalantly downward, still awaiting my answer, as if he hadn’t
just alarmed me to near death and then intervened with his mahdra. Somehow I had
missed hitting the gigantic pedestal holding the hall’s ominous timepiece, dodged
the chairs and tables alike.

Trying to recall his question, I haltingly answered in TreValla Common, “I…think

I’m good on…Sahven.” Wheezing, I gave him a flimsy thumbs up—which was stupid
considering he couldn’t see it through the robe and it hurt like hell. Mind you, it
could have been worse. I sensed he had moderated my fall.

He probably made me fall, as well.

“Excellent,” he said, his gray face looking down, his voice louder now for the
stretched distance. “Shall I be presumptuous and lay out any Movoken translations?
Or are you more inclined to the romantic Ath’Vela languages to brush up on? I can’t
imagine you need to revisit any of the available K’Vroken manuscripts,” he said,
with a slight downturn to his mouth.

Mumbling a bit, I answered.

“Please, enunciate. I did not understand you.” He waited, politely.

I groaned. “Just the K’Vroken History of Warfare,” I managed to say, my cheeks

heating up. He and I both knew I’d read that book enough to have memorized it.

Well, if the Sisters hadn’t intervened and if I were a normal human, I would have
memorized it by now. But being what I was, I kind of just absorbed information the
first go around.

I didn’t need to reread that book. I just wanted to.

Feeling a familiar liquid heat spread through my limbs, searing them as it

traveled, my bones began to readjust themselves to set their original positions.
Always was weird, that. The sound was the worst, however. Sure, I could feel the
cracked plates of my head move and come together, but it was the telltale grating
scrapes and drags heard from inside my skull, loud and yet muffled as if
underwater, that always gave me the chills. Like now.

Not my first rodeo. Also, never been to a rodeo.

Pondering if Haell had anything of the sort, I eventually settled on contemplating

pertinent information and couldn’t help but wonder if the Keeper’s lack of concern
for my hapless fall was because nothing had changed, that he still ruled his hall
with indifferent exactness, or if my plummet off the balcony had verified something
to him, revealed an answer he had been weighing. Considering his perception was
uncanny, his methods shrewd, the fact that he was a badass, and well, I was still
alive—despite being nearly impossible to kill—it was highly likely my fall was
premeditated and my non-death was an answer in and of itself.

Despite everything, my mouth quirked up at the corner.

“As you wish,” he said, turning from the railing, but stopping short. “Though the
sands of the hourglass are close to running out, I invite you to stay here at
Vahlta Hall and heal for as long as you like. No action will be taken to remove
you.” He paused for a moment. “My name is Keeper Rescoven. You may call me as
such.”

And just like that, my hero introduced himself. He waited.

I took a deep, meaningful breath as my heart pounded suddenly, not having anything
to do with my body’s rapid physical repair. “Trick,” I said, for the first time.
Ever. No longer H-08-7R1CK. That name was officially burnt to ashes, along with the
multi-trillion dollar compound that birthed and tagged me.

A hint of a smile crept out for a fraction of a moment before Keeper Rescoven
recovered his implacable persona. I could imagine why. Though the name Trick had
English origins, as it was my first language, its meaning in TreValla common was a
bit, improper, but dare I grudgingly admit, appropriate? Mind you, I named myself
long before my travels to Haell. Haell’s translation was just the universe toying
with me.

The trick here was the breath you take before all hell breaks loose, the fraction
of a second before the storm, in a sense. Also, loosely translated, its slang
lower-dredge term was boom—used in many, imaginative ways.

Hi, that was me. Trick. Watch for shrapnel.

“I am pleased to formally meet you, Trick.” He nodded and turned out of sight, but
with exaggerated footsteps. This time they echoed his location easily.

Step, step, step…

And in an instant, warm fuzzies. My librarian had a name and I just uttered mine.
Only took near two years and having to read over a third of the books in here to
get him to grace me with a name.

Keeper Rescoven.

Mind you, not many of TreValla’s citizens would acknowledge one such as myself, one
that wore the robe of the rejected. The blanket-sized garment had huge bell sleeves
and a hood that rivaled the garments of Death himself. Fashioned on the rim of the
hood and the ends of the sleeves were runes, mahdra written code. In a sense, the
code shadowed and obscured one’s face and hands while allowing the wearer the
opportunity to breathe openly and eat freely, generous of them, should you be
graced with any scraps that the denizens of this lovely city happened to throw out.

But for me, it was comfort and bliss. No joke. It was the wearable sleeping bag I
had always wanted. The reinforced mahdra anonymity was second to none and the robe
had saved me when my human self first arrived: soaking wet, broken, and terrified
on yet another alien planet.

Step, step, step…

Third floor, staircase, heading down.

However, yes, I would admit that procuring the cloak wasn’t something I’d like to
do again, being that I did have to kind of steal it off of a bloated dead body when
I first arrived. So not so blissful at that moment, but, advantageous for sure to
have stumbled across them on arrival.

I guess serendipitous was probably a more accurate term. People here thought I was
deformed or permanently scarred. And since the elite chased impossible perfection
here, perfection being the Sahven, they designed the robes to hide the so-called
hideous and grotesque faces of their less-than-perfect citizens: those who were
born differently, affected by disease, or even ones who were unfortunate enough to
have lost a limb or their ability to walk. The list went on. Every race here forced
their flawed outcasts to wear the robes of the rejected. Cruel, I know. But since I
came from a heartless place and had endured worse, the freedom of wearing the robe
was worth it.

It also had pockets.

Step, step, step…

Second floor.

Plus Haell was a bit behind the times on women’s rights—in my estimation, at least.
Not once in two years had I seen a female walk the streets of the city unescorted,
let alone enter the library, ever. Lame. Yet here I was boobs and all under a
blanket doing whatever I wished. All I had to do was feign imperfection. Not that I
was claiming flawlessness of any sort, especially with my bones rapidly reshaping
their fragile selves. But since I tended to cause widespread calamity more often
than not, anonymity was a relief.

Also, I was—am an alien. That’s a biggie.

I released a sigh. Keeper Rescoven. Jig was up. If I sensed his grasp of mahdra, I
wondered if he had been keenly aware of mine—or whatever passed as mahdra in its
most pure and volatile form. I had tried to force it down, but honestly, it just
came out unbidden at times. And it seemed that while I was blissfully learning
about all of Haell, jamming my brain with books and scrolls to keep myself
occupied, he had been studying me.

For what reason, I didn’t know. Had a feeling I was about to find out, though.

Step, step, step…

Probably should have been worried about that, yes. But somehow I just…wasn’t? I
mean, I had it spilling out of me, this magic—mahdra. He had to have noticed by
now. And being that the hall was the only place I really went and spent time in
besides the dangerous cliffside hole I called home, he had plenty of time to
observe me. And yet, my secret had been kept. And now I couldn’t run. I was stuck.
The man was diabolical and brilliant.

Step, step, step…

First floor.

Turning, Keeper Rescoven reached ground level. Feeling better with each passing
moment, I could have probably sat up and shaken it off, but remained where I was,
content to process the new information and where it may lead to next. My hapless
fall was spurring a new, daring curiosity.

Clipping past my spread-out form, I craned my neck as the Keeper neared the closed
doors and retrieved the ripped-out papers that Sir Ptero kindly left behind. The
griffin had solidified and resided on its column. The floor it had been cracking
with its gargantuan weight was remarkably unblemished from the blood, fissures, and
all. Looking down, Rescoven recited power-filled words under his breath. The papers
suddenly flew over to their rightful book and slid in, filling the voids as if Sir
Ptero never happened at all.

And once again, he began his precise walk. Right over to me.

“It seems as though you don’t require as much time to heal as I first surmised. You
will have to do better to mask your energy, however, as you can ill afford being
found out at this juncture,” he said, drawing nearer.
I sat up. “I try?” How much did he actually know?

“Your absence this past cycle, does it have anything to do with controlling this?”
he asked, waving his bony hand and indicating, well, all of me.

“Sort of,” I hedged, eloquently. He crossed his arms and waited. Eyeing him warily,
I then shrugged. “Uh, I kind of go catatonic. Well, this last time it happened
after I had managed to fall asleep, so I guess it was more like being comatose—”

His ear twitched. “If you will allow, your K’Vroken manuscript will have to wait.
Please, follow me.” Turning, he aimed toward the central information desk, a desk
that no one had ever had the balls to approach before. At least none that I had
witnessed. His pace was not as brisk, as if allowing me time.

I was torn. To my right, the Keeper continued on. To my left, the pedestal housing
the giant twenty-foot tall hourglass towered as it glowed emerald, its perpetually
undulating black and gold striped sands nearing its last few grains. Reading the
ebony plaque embossed with gold words on the pedestal’s facade, I knew their
warnings by heart. One of them being particularly relevant to my situation at hand.
Simply interpreting rule seven: when the sands run out, you run out. No exceptions.

I got up surprisingly easily. Sore in a few spots, but healed, nonetheless. With a
small trip over my bottom hem, I managed to stay upright and, call me Alice here,
curiously followed the gray Keeper. He invited me to stay, after all.

With all the research I’d done in Vahlta Hall, it was peculiar that the strongest
mahdra user I had ever come in contact with was this male right in front of me. He
should have been one of the Sahven boasting flawless symmetry and monolithic black
eyes to have had this much mojo. Well, according to the texts. I pretty much had no
practical knowledge of anything and honestly hadn’t come into any meaningful
contact with anyone here since I arrived. I made sure of it.

I didn’t count the dead guy in my purloined robe.

But Keeper Rescoven here was like many of the citizens of TreValla: light gray
skin, close to seven feet tall, bald, and horizontal chevron-shaped ridges on his
forehead leading up halfway on his scalp. The sclera of his eyes was a similar gray
to his body, and if it weren’t for cataracts obscuring the iris, his eyes would
have been an iridescent silver instead of the foggy, censorious ones that resided
there now. He was Falk. Like most of TreValla’s citizens. Like Ptero, even. That
also meant pointy ears—ears that had more of a rounded cup to them and articulated
in accordance with the sounds around them. They were double in length than the
Sahven’s more admired flat, pointed ears, though theirs were mostly concealed by
their raven hair, apart from the tips.

Not that I had seen a Sahven in real life. Just the overly glamorous lithographs in
books.

Rounding a pillar, I cautiously came up on the dreaded front desk as Keeper

Rescoven reached across the expanse and searched for something with his seemingly
arthritic, four-fingered Falk hand. Pushing a few scrolls around, he ended up
grabbing a quill that had been residing underneath. However, the minor mess which
resulted didn’t suit his exact sensibilities, so I stood there a few more moments
as he straightened up.

It seemed a bit contrived to me. Not once had I ever seen him look for something in
such a plebeian way. This was a show, though it didn’t put me at ease.
Interestingly enough, it didn’t make me quake in my crappy boots, either.
“I apologize for the delay. This way,” he said.

“I have a quill if that’s what you needed,” I said, pondering his motives but not
exactly expecting a reply. Why didn’t he just summon one with his power?

The fact that a Falk had this much mahdra was impressive, if not unprecedented. It
was only logical that all the races on Haell had more in common than they liked to
admit. Perhaps a few had ancestral Sahven DNA spread out? Or there existed a
common, but unknown ancestor between all races of Haell. It would also explain
Ptero having hair, even if it was an inch.

Unless he got hair plugs….but pretty sure that wasn’t a thing here.

Following the Keeper, my steps clopped eerily, echoing through the dominating,
seemingly breathing, darkened bookcases that led to the back. At nearly three
stories high themselves on each level of the library, the narrowly spaced shelves,
their terrifying slender ladders, and well, everything else in Vahlta Hall would
probably seem intimidating for most, especially if megalophobia was an issue. Me? I
found big things comforting. Go figure.

Perhaps another reason why I chose to stay on Haell?

Trailing my fingers lovingly across the packed leather spines, content with them
possibly watching me, I contemplated my recent choices and ruminated on the
cultural mores of Haell in terms of evaluating birthrights and exacting the will of
the higher power. Having read a few casebooks and texts on medicine and healing,
all races on Haell had a strict code on manipulating and changing what the Gods had
graciously bestowed upon them from birth. Simply put: you didn’t. That’s why the
imperfect stayed hidden under robes and the godly Sahven didn’t cut their hair. To
do so would be near sacrilege.

Now that I thought on it more, Sir Ptero dyeing his gray hair was a tacky, reckless
act, bordering blasphemous. Curious though that he was given an elevated position
despite his handicap with mahdra. I wondered if he had deep pockets? Enough to turn
a blind eye to aggressive social climbing?

“It’s not a quill you have, it is a squat drongo scrap used by brutes to tag
obscenities and the uneducated to graffiti the lower dredges,” he said, leading us
through the imposing, shadowed bookcases.

Burn.

I smirked but continued further down the rabbit hole following the Keeper. The
books themselves felt vigilant and aware, some seeping in an elusive mahdra that
seemed to move in them like an ancient circulatory system. The vahlen crystals
which were suspended from the ceiling remained mostly inactive. Vahlta Hall was a
dramatic place.

That, and I think the Keeper liked the dark. Or he was blind and possessed a more
mahdra-based sight. And since his milky eyes were unsettling in their opaqueness,
yet he could still zero in on a scholar dog-earring a page from across the hall’s
length—that’s what I was guessing. It wasn’t the glasses. No way. Mahdra sight.

His cool points went up some more.

But then he just had to knock my quill moments ago. It was the first purchase I had
ever made with money I never thought I’d possess. I had found the shellons on the
ground, even. Right outside the library.
As this needed defending, I couldn’t help myself as I said, “I fixed the tip and it
now writes fine and precise, thank you very much. And it’s not squat. It is a prime
specimen of a drongo feather. You can’t tell me this blue is not extraordinary.” I
fumbled with the sleeve of my robe, with it being around ten inches too long.
Managing to insert my hand in the hidden pocket, I pulled out the quill in
question. “Look.”

Gracing me with an imperious over-the-shoulder glance, he then resumed his

directional gaze, and commented, “I will admit the blue is vibrant.”

“Multiple-depth vibrant. You could swim in this blue.” Running my obscured fingers
over it, admiring the hues while walking, I didn’t bother looking up since the
Keeper was still somewhat in view and leading the way. To think a glorious feather
such as this came from Haell’s version of the common chicken, or more similarly,
something akin to Earth’s long-dead dodo bird, was beyond me.

“Be that as it may, the quill is of low quality and I am surprised its clumsily
spelled ink reserve has not exploded on my manuscripts.”

I kind of was shocked myself, but I wasn’t going to admit that to him. I didn’t
want one of my only possessions confiscated.

We reached the back of the hall. Through a shadowed stone niche, an exit I’d always
ignored before, he held his hand near the ornate brass-like escutcheon, not
bothering with the handle. With a smooth click, the handle turned and the heavy
black door swung in a few inches.

Pushing through, he said, “And when I left you those coins, I had hopes for you to
go and buy some food. You seem dreadfully stunted if I am to guess at your age.”

My jaw dropped. Not that he could tell through the hood.

“Come in, please.” He gestured.

Chapter three

Ifollowed him a bit mechanically into a lowly lit anteroom, the crystal sconces
barely glowing once again. Crossing the polished stone floor empty of any
furnishings, he proceeded to the only other door. My thoughts were spinning. If he
had strategically placed those coins where I would find them, what else had I not
noticed? Were the other shellons I found also his doing?

With another click, the second entry unlocked similarly to the first as Keeper
Rescoven entered. My robed form shadowed him. He shut the door behind me as I took
a look around and eyed the new space. At first glance, it was a bit unadorned of
furnishings for the moderate size...but it’s not like I was in a place to judge.
With two chairs, a small round table placed between them, and one worn, but
exquisitely crafted Ath’Vela rug, it was meant to be pleasant, I’d say. A large,
warm fireplace currently glowed in the wall to my left. Near the back, a dark
spiral staircase led upward.

But my eyes quickly dismissed all of that. Despite its average square footage and
its crafted ambiance, the height of the room still matched the height of Vahlta
Hall’s floors. It towered like a wicked mine shaft with me at the bottom yearning
to twirl as if in a musical. And surrounding me: perfectly organized blackwood
bookshelves precisely filled with thousands of leather-bound books taking up every
wall, even surrounding the hearth. Two familiar skinny metal ladders glittered in
the firelight like onyx rapiers on rails, daring me to climb.

Be still my heart. I should have known. The keeper was holding out. I shot a look
at him, ignoring the blatant fact that I deserved no explanation. “What the hell—”

“Before you begin devouring my personal collection of books, please, let us sit and
talk,” he said, watching as I had already moved over and nearly grabbed a random
volume, its title mentioning K’Vroken art. What? I had thought they just razed the
battlefields of ancient times, smote off heads, and probably took huge dumps as
they were massive. Not that I had ever seen a K’Vroken in person. Just books. And
here the sly keeper had more books. Reading some of the titles, I realized I was
speaking out loud. Quickly shrugging that off, I ran my fingers across the spines.
Was it just me, or did the books just shiver?

“Trick?” Keeper Rescoven enquired with a raised, ridged brow. He indicated the two
chairs, the same type of chairs that were seen throughout the Hall. He obviously
had commandeered these two for his personal use.

“Right.”

A blank piece of parchment now resided on the small table, along with the quill he
had insisted on. Torn, reluctantly shuffling over, I sat, flopping sleeves and all.
The reject robe was obnoxiously oversized, but I was lucky enough to have found a
knife a while back to clumsily slice off the bottom hem.

But wait—was that just happenstance, or did Rescoven have something to do with
that, too? Along with the shellons, did he bestow me a knife? If so, that would be…
awesome.

Gracefully lowering his crane-like form in the chair, he folded his bony, long-
fingered hands in his lap. His dark green Keeper’s robe needed no further arranging
as he sat. The chairs were already slightly turned toward each other to facilitate
dialogue. Ha. Even I didn’t buy that. This Falk didn’t do casual conversation. That
was one of the reasons why I admired him so…from a distance. Not a chatty giggler,
this one.

“I see you modified your robes, and your shoes, as well.” He stared down almost
reprovingly, with a slight downturn to his mouth.

“Yeah, well there were no mahdra runes down there so I figured I could alter them.
You know, so I could walk,” I said, not without some sarcasm.

“I apologize. I meant no offense. However, seeing the state of your footwear has
left me, questioning my judgment.”

Whatever that meant. My shoes were fine, just too large—think clown shoes too
large. So I had hacked them in half and cinched them up as far as I could. Open-
toed gladiator sandals were what I called them now. Not that you could even see my
toes even after the alteration. “I’ve seen worse.” I shrugged. What did he expect?
I was a reject.

“I’m getting off course.” His ear twitched.

I raised my eyebrow at that. The man was usually like stone.

He looked at the fire, then at my face, or my darkened face area. “I had many plans
on approaching you before tonight, some even attempted, and all of them resulted in
you running away, then maintaining even more distance than before.”

“Uhhh, I once saw you order a pack of books to attack a scholar who had wiped his
booger”—yes, those were in fact universal—“on the pages of a scroll. His ear will
never be the same. Of course I ran. I’m homeless, not stupid,” I said, fidgeting
with my drongo feather.

Still, I was curious.

Waving off the ear story as if inconsequential, just another day at the office, he
said, “I also wish I had more time. Being that there are rumors of powerful people
gathering, I realize I’ve allowed you to dictate the schedule for a bit longer than
is safe. Just now, as you were healing in the main hall, myself being fascinated by
the self-guiding mahdra you effortlessly pull, I knew that that time to have a
conversation was now—no more delays.”

I’d lived a very simple life since I arrived here. That said, I had no idea what he
was hinting at. I mean, I knew what was up—but did he? Really? I wasn’t too sure if
I was liking the machinations. Keeper Rescoven with a plan that involved me sounded
a bit too nope.

Yet here I was…

See, I’ve always liked honesty. Honesty is a good thing. So in the spirit of being
genuine, particularly with myself, I was willing to admit that my sitting there was
more than just curing some built-up boredom I’d been harboring. It was a need being
fulfilled and it was warily entertaining, to a degree, yes. But at the heart of it,
I was lonely. My curiosity and fangirling over the Falk was a powerful enough
motivation to follow Keeper Rescoven, but my need for something new, some
companionship, was gluing me in the chair and making me stay.

Still, that didn’t mean I wasn’t cautious.

Narrowing my eyes, I asked, “Did you leave the other coins, too? The shellons I
found—were all those from you?” Challengingly, I lifted my chin.

He gave a slight nod. “Yes, I made that happen. I said earlier, you are…shockingly
small. I was worried about your health and nutritional intake,” he said,
unapologetically.

I huffed. “What—why?” And I wasn’t small, I was just in a land of jacked-up bros,
here. I could see that this wasn’t what he wanted to talk about, but he treaded my
conversational heels anyway. Interesting that he hadn’t felt the need to sick a
bunch of manuscripts on me or light my robe on fire until I played along. He was
fantastic at that.

“I see that you’re confused. Naturally, I had to maintain my distance to be sure of

what I suspected you were. Nevertheless, I tried to intervene and offer assistance
regardless of how, timid you seemed.”

“I’m rejected. There’s nothing special about me.” Even as I said it I knew it was a
lame rebuttal. Mahdra was celebrated here. I oozed it.

He just looked at me.

That was okay. I stared right on back. One thing that remained consistent in my
past life and this one was my capacity of being a pain. Not that I was under any
illusions of dominating him and playing some power games. Nah, I wanted none of
that. Besides, I didn’t think the old man could be bested even if I had the
inclination. No, I just wanted to be difficult.

His ear twitched, again. Ha.

Sighing, he said, “I am confined to this keep as long as I draw breath. I’ve lived
a long and fulfilling role here in the Hall of Vahlta. Though I suspect some are
cognizant of the bond I made with a Sacred Stone, most are unaware of its true
power and ignorant of the energy I’ve received in this symbiotic relationship. As
long as I remain within the foundations of Vahlta Hall, I have mahdra and extended
breath.” Straightening, fortified and resolute, he continued. “But for the most
part, I have dedicated my life to the celestial bodies,” he said, with grave
importance.

“Oh, that actually makes a lot of sense—a power source. I mean, I’ve read that
anyone can be blessed with mahdra, but it’s super rare for any real power to be
outside Sahven bloodlines. But then, according to ‘The Ancestral Studies of the
Continent of Savos and Their Spreading Practices’, some of the elite there have
gathered harems of females from the ‘lesser’ races—can’t believe their stuck-up
selves would stoop so low,” insert eye roll, which was wasted from my hood, “but
also can’t believe that some of the Falk women and others would be willing to be
their glorified pets. Even here in TreValla, right? I mean why subject yourself to
that? A bit degrading I would think, but what do I know, you know? Hmm—oh yeah,
anyway it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility that bloodlines aren’t as
pure as…”

I trailed off.

He was looking at me with curious, but regimented, disbelief. An expression on him

I had never witnessed until now. Uh…was he expecting something else out of me? Why,
yes. Yes he was. His answer had confirmed so many suspicions I’d had of him, I had
gotten giddy and my mind tunneled into a splinter topic. What had I missed?

Oh. That.

“Celestial Bodies,” I murmured. I realized when I had heard him utter those words
they weren’t capitalized in my mind. Now they were. Big ol’ caps now.

“Yes,” he said, witnessing my understanding, shoulders easing, eyes less narrow.

It’s funny how the moment snuck up like that. I mean, it had been building for a
while, apparently. But now I had finally felt it, realized it. My decision to
remain in the city, my pull toward the library of all buildings even when I knew
nothing of its purpose at first, and my fascination with its librarian. It all made
sense…

I was being guided.

YESSS

Aaaand that was the Sisters. They had spoken.

My heart began to pound.

They didn’t speak in words, mind you. More of a feeling that I could translate.
They communicated directly with my soul, essence, or whatever you wanted to call
it. Cut off my finger and pretty sure the cell tissue there would still know the
answer and would recognize the influence of the Goddesses.

My cosmic Sisters.

I realized I was low-key quaking. I knew now the moment was pivotal, the Falk
crucial, and the whole situation, inevitable. My fates had spoken and there was no
choice to make. It’d been made for me.

Cue the crying and the bemoaning of my circumstances for the puppet role I played.
Nah, just joking. I wasn’t that sort of girl. Truth was, I loved the Sisters and
the Sisters loved me, in a very unique, but…encompassing, gravitational way. But
for the most part, I had my agency and freedom I always dreamed of. Communication
was rare and guidance was nearly nonexistent…and that’s what made my heart aglow,
in this case. Like an awkward, plucky bird being thrust out of the nest, I was
being watched from above, but also given the room to spread my wings, to experience
life. Let me tell you, that was stressful at times on an alien planet, not to
mention lonely. And the decisions? There were so many of them.

So yes, in this case, I was being given direction. And all I felt, besides a bit of
shock, was relief. I sent the Sisters two big inner thumbs up and turned to the
Falk, my destiny.

“Are you familiar with the Siron Pledge?” he asked.

Well, trick. Perhaps the mental thumbs-up was a tad premature. Nodding, suddenly
side-eyeing the quill and parchment, I answered, “Yes. It’s a Sahven rite.”

Red flag, red flag…

“Yes.” He was pleased. “Its origin is Sahven, so naturally it’s seeped in mahdra.
Uniquely, it has been adopted by a few other races—albeit only those able to
manipulate the required energy.”

Perhaps a certain Falk with a fancy mahdra stone? Okay, I needed to keep calm.
Taking a deep breath, I nodded again as my leg began to bounce. I eyed the doorway.
“It was one of the few Sahven incantations written about. But most of that stuff is
highly classified, top brass, Sahven eyes only,” I added lamely while looking back
at him. He was analyzing me, seeing perhaps more than he should. Rescoven was
getting to something. Something big.

Fact was, I trusted the Sisters, yes, but I sure as hell wasn’t about to enter into
a Siron Pledge with the Keeper. That shit was serious. Servitude for life. And
since the Sahven had near immortality, Rescoven hinting at a similar longevity with
his sacred stone, I wasn’t going to spend my unquantifiable lifetime worshiping
Rescoven.

No one was my master. Not anymore.

Eyes unwavering from his, I noticed the keeper’s normally icy demeanor had lifted.
During the whole conversation, he went from cautious, to heavy-laden, to resolute.
Now his eyes burned lethal and hawklike. Rescoven about to strike. Now that was
dangerous.

I needed to nope out of there. Standing, I swayed as my blood began to sear through
my vascular system. Something that, unfortunately, I wasn’t unfamiliar with. It
meant energy, and that wasn’t good. Anxiety spiking, power inside me roiling, I
glanced over to the door, contemplating the mahdra over it and wondering if I’d
blow the place up if I made a dash for it.
But then he spoke and any options I had, vanished.

Dropping to his knees he lowered his head, took out a long ceremonial knife that
had been tucked up his sleeve—because yes, of course, that's where one should
always keep one’s ceremonial dagger—and proceeded to slice his wrists methodically,
changing hands to perform the action with precision. Dark blood welled at the
incision, then poured down in thick, cobalt streams to the floor. That part checked
off his list, the fastidious librarian dropped the knife—shocking, the untidiness—
leaving his hands splayed out in supplication before me. Naturally, the incantation
he had started was being recited perfectly from what I could remember from the
texts. Rescoven was stoic and smooth.

And absolutely psychotic.

Chair falling as I took a reflexive step back, I then scrambled, the robe tripping
me up, my backside crashing down as I looked on in horror. He was pledging himself.
To me.

“What the vrekk?” I yelled, helplessly. Sure, I didn’t want to be anyone’s slave
for eternity—I didn’t think that was too much to ask of my Sisters. But I sure as
hell didn’t want a slave of my own! Jaw dropping, I struggled to breathe as the
mahdra swirled and gathered in the air, the books rattling on the imposing
surrounding shelves. I couldn’t tell if the power was from me or him and at that
point it didn’t matter since we both were close to exploding. Along with the city.

Or the continent.

Closing my eyes, clenching them. Not again, not again, not again…

Breath in. Hold. Breath out. Hold.

I could hear him speaking the incantation with perfect Sahven dialect and exact
inflection as if he wasn’t currently about to exsanguinate before me. I’d be pissed
at his perfection, but keeping it together was a priority. Stabbing him with my
quill would have to wait.

Breath in.

More words.

Hold.

Flawless diction.

Breathe out. Hold.

After an interminable stretch of mastered execution, he stopped. The mahdra in the

room was at its peak casting the back of my closed eyelids in a glowing emerald
light. The power was unquestionably being felt throughout TreValla tonight. Frack.
Guardedly, I opened my eyes and peered through my fingers. He had just finished
leaning over and signing his name.

“Do you accept my pledge of loyalty and servitude, Lady Trick, Daughter of the
Celestials?”

“Uh, do I have a choice, Keeper Rescoven, master of the deranged?” I sarcastically

bit back, shaking. This was beyond insane. Did he have any idea of what he was
playing at?
“Of course, there is always a choice,” he said.

“We can debate hard determinism on that one, Resco.” Shit. “Correct me if I’m
wrong, but you’ll bleed out soon if I don’t acquiesce?” He nodded. “Not only that
but if I don’t accept, there’d be no patching you up. No healer could save your ass
since the incision and bleeding is mahdra based?”

“You are very well informed,” he said.

“Save it,” I clipped. He knew the books I’d read. Looked like me accepting my fate
was a bit heavy-handed here being that I would have allowed him into my confidence
without this crap.

Or not. Probably never completely. Still trying for self-honesty, here.

Sitting up, breathing deeply, I crossed my legs in a meditative pose on his rug.
Assessing for triage, number one problem was keeping my power under control. That
also meant finishing what he started. “Yeah, sure, whatever,” I said, pinching the
bridge of my nose and trying not to focus on how my brain felt like it was
fracturing its own skull as it throbbed relentlessly. And yes, he was still
bleeding out, but I was fairly sure he was going to be just fine.

But not the rug. His rug was fracked. Served him right.

“Is that a yes?” he asked with a calm that showed just how commonplace gratuitously
spilling one's blood and old, unbreakable Sahven pledges was to him.

“Yes, that’s a yes,” I snapped. Eyeing the small table, I cringed. I knew what I’d
see there. I had recently read all about it. Groaning, I asked, “You need my blood,
right?” Nodding, he then tilted his head to indicate the dagger residing in the
bloody mess on the floor. Hell no to that. “I’m not using that thing. Who knows how
many people you’ve stabbed with it.”

“The krutchka knife has been used very sparingly, only for the most powerful mahdra
incantations,” he said, casually, and yet somehow making non-verbal allusions to
another bloodier knife, or knives, in his arsenal.

“Yeah, no thanks,” I said clutching my drongo quill. “Right, I’m just going to use
the tip of this guy here being that I’m going to need it anyway,” I paused, pulling
my sleeve up, “and there’s nothing you can do about it.” I could see a protest
forming, that the lowly quill mocked the grand occasion, but then he clenched his
jaw.

Good thinking, that.

His heavy blood slowed and plopped lazily on the saturated carpet below, no longer
visibly blue, but now black in the green mahdra haze surrounding us.

Now or never.

Pushing my rune-embroidered sleeve up some more, but not too far, my hand emerged
shadowed and obscured. No matter. Based on the requirements needed for the Siron
Pledge, the “Master” rarely gave any more blood than was necessary. I could find my
shadowed finger just fine for a quick prick.

Which was what I did.

Using the quill’s newly improved tip, I punctured my finger and the blood welled up
in a blurred, but shadowed dot due to the obscuration runes. Pressing it out, I
quickly leaned and flicked the dark, brownish drop in the spreading ichor on the
carpet, adding it to the “willing lifeblood spilled”, as the spell required. If he
noticed the minute difference in blood color even amidst the emerald gauze
pulsating within the room, nothing was mentioned.

And then I said the words. The Sahven language flowed out easily and succinctly,
exactly as I had read with the syntax weaving and sculpting the energy around us.
Not much to say on my part other than, yes I accept, with a few Sahven flourishes
of required obedience and promise of prolonged, torturous death should he not
fulfill his duty. No biggie.

Awkwardly, I got to my knees and shuffled over to the small table. All the words
which Rescoven had spoken in the incantation were written down, his blood
transferred by mahdra to the parchment in perfect Sahven script. My blood having
done the same with the concluding passage which I just dictated. The swirling
mahdra pressed in on us in the room and held itself in suspense for the last rite.

Ready to seal his fate.

Whatever. He chose this. Not me.

Hopefully the city was still standing…

With my humble drongo quill still wet from my lifeblood, I signed my name at the
bottom, directly below his own formal signature. Instantly, the parchment lifted a
few inches as the sanguine marks dried irreversibly.

It was done.

Within seconds, the escalating build of power began to stagnate, and then drain,
the emerald phosphorescent haze dissipating like rays from a setting, alien sun. It
was instant relief. Breathing easier, I watched as Keeper Rescoven stood and gave
me a deep bow before retrieving the knife.

I shook my head. Unbelievable.

Closing my eyes, I rolled my neck and began stretching to ease the huge amount of
tension residing in my shoulders. Plopping back down on my butt, I focused once
again on just breathing.

Chapter four

“Hopefully you are receiving some of the benefits of being tied to another,” he
said, beginning after some time. "I am now able to drain off your extra mahdra and
redirect it toward containment. In this case, Vahlta Hall can act as a reserve
should you overflow, doing more than just shielding as it has been doing, and is
still doing—so, not to worry there. I made sure there would be no spillage of
mahdra into the city tonight. However, as of now, I am only allowed to act
according to your will. If you protest this, let me know. Also, do I have your
permission to heal my wounds?” he asked.

Hells bells. “Yes—you psycho. You can heal yourself,” I said, popping open my eyes
apparently just to roll them. “And I command you to act as you normally do, use
your brain and have complete autonomy as before. This is weird as hell, but I’m not
about to make both of our lives awful here.” I exhaled, exhausted from trying to
dam all that power.

“As you wish,” he said, pleased. I snorted.

Rescoven gave me a curious look but left me to my thoughts and allowed me to just
be for a moment as the power kept retreating.

In the periphery, the keeper muttered in Falk language and began to clean his
krutchka knife. As he wiped the black blade off, the carpet began to clear itself
of blood. Not fair. He needed some type of memory to remind himself of his brash
and unyielding behavior.

Such is life. Even here.

Leaning back, I gazed at the small square of the distant ceiling, but not before I
checked and made sure his wrists were healed. They were.

After some time, he spoke again. “May I ask, how did you get here? The final
gateway of the Celestials displayed no outward power after the last of the ancients
departed. I’ve studied the submerged doorway under TreValla’s waters through
manuscripts and disintegrating texts, but cannot fathom how it was activated. It
hasn’t been functioning for countless millennia.”

He was sitting down again in his chair. Poised as a scholar. A scary, calculating
one.

“Did you not just feel the mahdra in this room threatening to blow us all up?
That’s how it was powered,” I said, still a bit out of breath.

“Don’t get flippant,” he said, relaxed despite the circumstances. Not at all
deterred by my sass. “My question is valid. The texts state that multiple Celestial
descendants provided power for the gateways.” Folding his hands precisely, gazing
down at my form intently, he asked, “You are one daughter. How is that possible?”

Ah, sharp Rescoven was back, the servant role already taking a back seat. Good.

I pondered his question.

I really should have paid more attention to the history of 'my people', but
honestly, I couldn’t have cared less. I knew I wasn’t the only one out there, was
aware that these sons and daughters of the Celestials were often times the 'Gods'
of planets. All of this knowledge wasn’t really taught to me, either. Not in the
traditional sense. I just somehow…knew. Me being remade and reborn by and according
to the Sister’s specifications, I just carried knowledge intrinsically. It was
partly how I picked up languages so well. How I could read entire floors of
libraries and still need more.

But, traveling was terrifying. I was aware that if I wanted more knowledge on my
kind’s history, I’d have to find my 'brothers and sisters'—which meant I’d have to
jump again. And that was a no-go.

Nope.

And so, since I wasn’t willing to do that and subsequently wasn’t too interested in
my culture, or whatever you want to call it, I planned on never finding out. I
didn’t really care. I was too busy just figuring out the basics.
“Lady Trick, you are one Daughter. How is it possible the door opened for you and
you alone? There has been no indication that more Celestial children have arrived.
Just you.” He eyed me as if he already suspected something more.

“Yeah, no one else is here,” I said, with a sigh. “It is just me.”

I mean, space was huge. Haell’s old cosmic gateway was barely functioning when I
crashed here out of desperation. No one else would have chosen here out of the
billions upon billions of options available to them. Well, if they knew anything
about jumping they probably wouldn’t. TreValla’s gate sucked. Being that I had
jumped only four times prior to Haell, and all those not going too smoothly, my
experience was a tad lacking. My instincts nonexistent.

Except for the hell no instinct. That, I had down pat.

“Then please, explain. You must have bonded with a powerful Celestial in order to
do this,” he said. Well, he wasn’t wrong. “Is your Celestial a planet? A star?”

I moved a hand over my face scrubbing. “More like stars,” I said through my
fingers. “I call them the Sisters and I think they’ve approved the name—they
haven’t indicated otherwise. So yeah, it’s a group of stars who power me. Not one.
A lot.” Which was putting it mildly. I couldn’t even count them and they certainly
didn’t waste their celestial time crunching numbers.

Silence.

“I…see,” he said finally.

Though I doubt he really saw. I could hear the questions building though he hadn’t
muttered another word. How do you explain to another the fact that you are
basically chosen as an avatar for the Gods of the universe—or in my case, Goddesses
—actual stars? That part of your consciousness was and always will be connected to
a vast power of pure energy? That this group of like-minded explosive titans
identified as female and wanted a daughter, ahem, sister—one small enough to ride
planet-side? One that they could watch and be entertained by, powered by their own
conglomerate?

I guess I’d give it a go, from the beginning. Better to get most of it out at once
than to drag it on forever. Besides, surprisingly, I felt a weight being lifted
from my shoulders looking forward to talking to someone other than myself.

Another incentive, I still had a new K’Vroken book to read, its spine called to me
from only a few feet away.

“Alright,” I said, sitting up, legs splayed. “Sooo, I was born a clone in a galaxy
far, far away,” I snickered, “on an Earth-orbiting space-station owned and operated
by the Haven corporation—think healers who care only for money so they develop and
patent ways to profit from the super-rich, all the while touting their pure
intentions and reiterating the oaths they took whilst patting themselves on their
reprehensible backs.” I laughed. “Wait, you have those assholes here, too.” I shook
my head. “Anyway, I was hatched in my teens and was apparently made to order by
some richie rich human back on Earth.” I paused gauging his reaction. This was
basic shivit for me.

His milky, yet piercing eyes didn’t waver. He didn’t interrupt.

Shrugging, I kept going. “I guess I was the spare parts they needed in case they
suddenly required any organs or whatnot. Or maybe I was just an insurance policy.
Who knows? There were others like me—not like me, me—but other clones made for the
same reasons. For the most part, we had our own rooms, or cells, and were educated
in the basics in order to facilitate and promote the growth of our brains. Later,
we were given old, outdated tablets and told to ‘learn’ off of them.” I gave a
short laugh. “I’m assuming they bought and then unlocked a bunch of cheap, relic-
age smart devices in an auction lot because whatever was preloaded on them was what
we got.

“Mine? Mine was awesome. It seriously had the best music and vids. In fact,” I
said, adjusting my posture, sitting up straighter, “I was pretty popular in the
cafeteria when we were allowed to eat amongst each other. They said it staved off
depression in the clones, eating as a group—kept our organs healthy, or whatever.
Anyway, whoever owned my tablet was a genius. Others weren’t as lucky—but we all
shared the good content so it evened out…for the most part.”

I was actually getting into this. Hilarious. It had been a while since I had
reminisced on this stuff. I had always thought of Haven as a prison while I was an
occupant, but now, given the fact that I’d been given freedom with the opportunity
to recollect in relative comfort, I realized that there were moments of brightness,
areas where my fellow clonies and I made it work, found some happiness, even if it
was and a bit morbid for the regulars.

Smiling while remembering, I said, “In fact, one guy—huge clone, massive neck”—I
made a circle with my floppy-sleeved hands to show the size—“he was always a bit
broken, his mind incomplete, you know? Anyway, as our crap luck would have it, he
was given a tablet and apparently it had violent adult content downloaded on it.
Like literally, that was the only thing on his device. We had to avoid him like the
space plague with his nasty proclivity for trying to disfigure and force himself on
others.”

I held up my hands when Rescoven made a move to speak.

“But we made a game out of it, kinda like tag—you know like the crazy running game
the kids play near the dredges? No worries though because he was pretty slow, in
more ways than one, and got harvested early, I think. His mind was too far gone and
they figured it was going to cause adverse reactions to his organs. That, or they
needed him right away regardless if his organs were going to be premature or not.
Oh, and this one girl—”

“Trick, focus.”

I snickered. Seemed that Resco wasn’t a fan of humorous near-assault stories. Thank
goodness that the clone hadn’t been truly successful in forcing himself on others.
I wouldn’t be so cavalier recounting my memories if he had. The other clonies and I
had named him Girth—but if you referred to him by name it was imperative that you
lowered your head and said it with a double-chin voice. The guy’s shoulders were
massive, but his chin was nonexistent and it melted into the neck. A DNA mistake I
suppose from being manufactured.

Girth.

I snorted.

I had a lot of stories like that, but seeing the expression on Resco’s face
probably meant that he was a tad annoyed, or uncomfortable. I didn’t know which. I
would just introduce the rest later. There was some comedy gold in them.

“Yeah, okay,” I continued, “so I was there for approximately seven years until I
got word I was going to be harvested.”
“You are fully mature then?” he asked, casting a dubious look at my petite self,
undoubtedly pondering if humans took longer to grow.

“Physically? Yes,” I answered with a smirk. “Anyway, they told me they needed my
skin—tricky organ to harvest seamlessly, but the technology was there, one just had
to have the money to do it. But, such is life as a clone, you know?”

He didn’t know.

“It wasn’t until I was being rolled out into the operation room that the whole
station’s alarm system went off. The AI mentioned multiple solar flares, and to
seek radiation shelter within Haven’s panic pods. Fat lot of good that did being
that I was watching the screaming lab techs and doctors melt in front of my eyes as
fire enveloped all of us.” My gaze caught on to something. “It got a bit hazy after
that,” I said, my thoughts tapering off of Haven. I pointed to a shelf behind
Rescoven’s head. “Is that a krell ball?”

“What?” He turned with a raised brow. “You change the subject rather fast. Are you
always like this?” he asked, his ear twitching again.

“Uh, I think so? Don’t blame me, I was born in a tube. There’s bound to be
something a bit off with me,” I said. “So, is it?”

“Is what it?”

“Is that a krell ball?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

“May I try it out? I’ve seen the kids play with it in the lower district.” The
krell balls were awesome here. It was a simple design with a small ball the size of
a young child’s palm, so my palm, that had a stretchy cord tied to it. You secured
the cord around your wrist to slap the ball with your hand seeing how fast you
could go, improving your dexterity. The ingenious thing about it was that if you
got two krell balls and tied the string together, it worked as a bola, and if
thrown correctly, would lasso a bystander’s legs and trip them up.

I’d seen that firsthand.

Trying it first on me, being that I was one of the rejected and seemingly an easy
target, quickly the young street delinquents realized I was too fast for them. But
then I witnessed it work on some well-heeled guy from the upper who was slandering
a lower dock vendor. He got tripped up and fell face down in draven dung, then
subsequently, his pockets got stripped clean. The city at its finest. It was
hilarious. I kept hoping to see that again, hence the reason I was rooting for Sir
Ptero to have a similar experience. Nothing so far.

Maybe I could recreate it…

“You may, as long as you continue speaking of your past. Please. I’d like to have
as much information as possible to serve you correctly,” he said as he watched me.

Immediately I stood and went around him, jumping up on the rear ladder and rolling
to the toy while climbing ten or so rungs. Using my hand on the wood to slow my
momentum, I quickly snatched the dark, red object. I didn’t bother with descending
properly. I jumped off from where I was. “Whoa. It’s a lot heavier than I thought.
This could knock me out.” But then I’d just get back up again with my healing
capabilities. “How’d you get this?”
“I confiscated it from a child here in the Hall. It was a nuisance and the toy was,
as well,” he said.

Sounded about right. I began to pace and attempted to work the krell ball, but my
sleeve kept getting in the way.

“Trick,” he prompted.

“Right. So the humans kinda melted around me and the facility was like, white hot
and I thought I was dying, but weirdly it didn’t hurt? Then it felt like I was
floating for…quite the duration, that part. I have no idea where I was during that
period.” I shrugged. “The Sisters took me in as their own.”

Unaware of how long it took for me to 'awaken', time ceased to be a thing on that
plane of existence. I was being forged and reborn as me, but more than before. They
cradled me in their thoughts and their energy for years, decades, eons—who knew?
Eventually, as I became aware of my body and mind as my own once more, a gate was
before me.

I stood there in the vacuum of space, alive and feeling no need to breathe, on a
cold, desolate, but fractured gray moon, with an unknown galaxy’s nebula painting
the black with long-dead explosions of color, and the brilliant loving stars of the
Sisters around me, light years away but residing in me, guiding me—urging me to
walk through the massive archway made of stone, etched with runes I could somehow
understand.

So I did.

Five terrifying jumps later...

“And now I’m here, on Haell. The Sisters apparently freed me so could I leap from
rooftops at night humming caped crusader music and read a crap ton of books.
Twenty-something and life is good.”

Pinching the arch of his nose, his ear twitched. “The way you blithely describe
your origins…”

He didn’t finish.

Shrugging again, I mostly focused on the krell ball. “This is a lot harder than it
seems,” I said, as I tried to get the ball to hit my palm and not my face. “Is this
even a ball? It’s more like a rock.”

Ignoring my fussing, he said, “I noticed your blood, it was red on the contract.
And you mentioned you are human? Is that why you wear the robe of the rejected?”

“My wearable sleeping bag? Yeah.”

“Trick, since we have completed the Siron Pledge, what’s mine is now yours, by
indelible law. I hope that you’ll stay with me here, as I still cannot leave the
hall, amongst your books you so love.”

The krell ball smacked into my nose, cracking the bone. “Ow. Are you kidding me?”
He met my incredulous, shrouded stare with his own, more reserved one. “You’re
giving me Vahlta Hall?” I blinked around the sudden tears, not from sentiment, but
from the bones reshaping themselves.

“That is part of the pledge. Surely you remember reading those words.”
“Okay, not taking the hall here, that’s just weird. You’re the Keeper, not me,” I
said emphatically. However, I knew the terms of the oath. It was no joking matter.
The Siron Pledge was serious. And I, by and according to the unbreakable contract,
was his Master.

I snorted. Yeah, right. “How about I stay here and life goes on like normal.”

I could even sleep with the colorful books in the entomology section on the third
floor, as I had often daydreamed about. It had a nice, secluded area that I could
stretch out in, and literally no one on this continent, except the Keeper and
myself, cared or was even remotely interested in the study of Haell’s creepy
crawlies.

“That…is a start,” he said, agreeing.

Whatever that meant. I managed to palm a seven-hit volley.

“And since you have graciously granted your servant autonomy, as you said earlier,
may I have your robe? I would like to get them clean for you,” he said, waiting.

“Ha. You mean I stink,” I said, with a smirk. Keeper Rescoven was being polite
about it. It was pretty incongruous to what I’d witnessed from him in the past, but
hilarious and, touching all the same. And being that the Goddesses had sent me to
him and he was my servant bound by mahdra, I was finally, unexpectedly, safe.
Reaching the end of a volley of twenty-one, I said, “Yeah, sure.” Dropping the ball
while shrugging off the robes, I wiped some of the blood off my face as I did so.
My nose had healed. I threw the black garment over his outstretched arm.

And then there was silence.

“Good Gods of Haell, Lady! For all that is holy, you will not go outside without
this robe—or something to cover you up. To think that this,” he indicated my
everything, as he now does, “was underneath this whole time—it’s a miracle you
lasted so long!”

“That’s what I thought! Great minds think alike, Resco,” I said. “Fist bump.” I
held it out. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose again.
Apparently, he didn’t know how to fist bump. We would remedy that.

Chapter five

Iusually only ever emerged from my cliffside cave at night or during the early,
dark hours. Since it wasn’t truly twilight and seeing that I no longer called my
dank shelter ' home'—it had been a few revealing, communicative days since that—
venturing out during this particular hour with daylight to spare, I was feeling
energized, if not a tad wary. I still wore the same robe, albeit a cleaner one, and
I still felt the need to jump onto the roofs of the stacked buildings like a caped
crusader, but, this time I had sneakers on my feet.

No. Not really. This wasn’t Haven…not that I ever had any celebrity-sponsored kicks
there, either. Regardless, here I had the equivalent of new sneakers: a brand new
boot, made for a young Haell boy and not a girl because I refused to wear a shoe
with a set of complicated ribbons and a wafer-thin bottom. Not that I was high
maintenance. Initially, I had denied Keeper Resco from ordering anything new on my
behalf. That refusal was met with stony silence.

Eventually, he cracked his stony visage and responded by saying, “I have not bided
all these long generations drawing on a sacred stone forged by your ancestor’s
power to have the charge I’ve long awaited, the charge whose masters I have
worshiped for hundreds of rotations, tell me that she is fine with wearing trash
and she is fine with sleeping in a former cache of thieves in the cliffs of Drehd.
You will honor this pledge and allow me to do what I’ve been preparing for, serving
a child of a Celestial.” He stiffly walked over and snatched my garbage-chic shoes.

“Celestials, plural—and okay, fine. I just don’t want to be a pain,” I said.

“Then cease to be a pain and let me request that this—this irreverence to oneself
expire now and forever. I will get you new footwear. You have demanded your robe to
remain and not be replaced. I have allowed that.” He shuddered slightly. Perhaps he
hadn’t liked the idea that it was pre-owned? Weird. Continuing, he said, “I have
standards here at Vahlta Hall and you will not fall below them. You are mine now.”
He paused. Raising my eyebrows at that last part, surprisingly I did not dislike
what he had said. “Again, apologies. I am yours, and I will serve you with all the
severity of my being.”

No kidding on the severity part.

“Fine, but how do you buy them? I mean, you can’t leave the Hall. I’ve noticed
things still get done, however, and that’s just weird.” I know he hadn’t stooped so
low as to clean my clothes himself. He was born to dictate. He was sensational at
it.

Nodding, recognizing my obedience and perhaps thanking his godly stars I wasn’t
going to be difficult, he said, “I have help that comes by and completes the tasks
that I require.”

“No kidding, you have flesh minions? That actually makes a lot of sense. They come
through the front, though?” Seemed suspect since I had been at the hall
uninterrupted for a few days and still hadn’t seen anyone, but one brave random
scholar coming in through the grand, double doors two days prior.

Having been in his personal library during this little conversation, we’d gotten
some of the bigger questions and nuanced discussions over within the past couple of
days. Languages were introduced and I scribed him a short autobiography—his request
—written in English…which in turn led to me promising and fulfilling more writing
samples with assignments scheduled for the future.

In addition, tablets, videos, memes, and even some music were gone over with me
having to diagram a circle of fifths along with a treble clef writing of Mozart's
first few pages of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik in violin. Random, yes. But if I was a
sponge for knowledge, absorbing information thrown at me chaotically in a slapdash
manner, Rescoven was a supercomputer having gained consciousness after manipulating
his creators to their doom. His servers the towering watchful bookcases of Vahlta
Hall.

The cataract eyes missed nothing. He filed everything.

Ironically enough, given the similarities, turned out Rescoven was appalled by the
technological society I hailed from when I further explained DNA, telomere therapy,
genetic engineering, clones, artificial intelligence systems, robotics, and well,
craft-based space travel. And while I knew most of my cursory knowledge was
outdated and lacking, due to it deriving from doled-out scrap data and the
occasional question answered by bored staff members, I also knew without a doubt
that humans had nothing close to Celestial gates. But while the technologically
ridden, yet sans-mahdra planet Earth fueled some curiosity in the sharp Falk, he
found it limiting and crude to imagine a world where life energy wasn’t accessible
to its inhabitants. So Earth was seen as barbaric and handicapped in Resco’s milky
eyes, even if his world was what some would deem dreadfully behind in many, if not
all, technological advances.

He’d walked off from that sit-down feeling superior with Haell and its’ peoples, I
think. And rightly so. Haell was behind on much, in a way having more in common
with Earth’s seventeenth and eighteenth centuries than to the green and blue orb’s
more recent years of innovation. But its land captured you. Haell itself wove
mahdra around and through you, and frankly, with its inhabitants, accomplished more
with its mysterious power than what Earth could do with its meddlesome,
environmentally destructive tech. Humanity had taken too many steps backward just
for the sake of advancing. With that dichotomy in mind, Haell was healthy and
cutting edge, the people’s power clean, and nearly unlimited in possibilities.

Mind you, I was aware that my interactions with 'my kind of people' were tainted by
my status as, well, property. I had never stepped foot on Earth’s soil. To claim a
relationship with humanity when I was never given that designation—proper status as
a human being—seemed disingenuous. So to say that I had mixed feelings about my
origin planet was putting it lightly.

That said, I had always wondered if Earth survived the solar flares. I hoped they
had. I mean, my long-gone tablet was filled with so much hilarity and good that it
would have been unjust of the Sisters to have completely annihilated them. Alas,
that was one of the questions that hadn’t been answered with their intrinsically
downloaded knowledge pack. So I blatantly asked, wishing on a star. If they had
heard, I was still not aware of it.

“Minions?” he had inquired, with a raise of one brow, his unseeing, opaque eyes
capturing my gaze steadily.

“Yeah, little yellow creatures that wear goggles and denim and serve your every
need with disastrous consequences?” Well, that was the only definition that I was
going to use.

He just gave me his look. “I know half of what you said, the other half a reference
I know well enough not to ask you to extrapolate on.” He had been catching on. I’d
laughed while he then said, “I have multiple servants under light, or moderate,
contracts. Laundry, food, and a runner. I clean the Hall myself.”

“You mean you mahdra the hall clean.”

Waving a hand, he said, “It's simple rune basics. Every upper household has these
runes. I, myself, do not employ a live-in housekeeper, and the runes do not need
recharged since the stone, and now you, keep them full.”

Oh, that’d been interesting. I’d had a bath using runes to start the flow of water
and adjust its temperature. I think I cried a bit it had felt so good.

“Okay then, the runner—have I seen him before?”

No need to have questioned if the runner was a female. That just didn’t happen on
Haell. The females, if they were employed, were employed behind closed doors where
all of Haell said they should be. Because the males outnumbered them three to one.
Because they were described as 'delicate'. And truth be told, there wasn’t even
pushback on this. It was a fact happily accepted by all. At least, I hadn’t read
anything about their dissatisfaction or a suffragette movement. Not that it was a
democracy here, either...

Governing structure mentioned, Haell had five massive continents and their oceans
and land masses were equally dispersed on a planet seven times larger than Earth.
The Sahven ruled three of these with a high council of seven members. Not a high
council, sorry. Known in these parts as The High Council, more accurately. The
K’Vroken reigned over the other two continents. And the submerged gateway that I
clumsily entered upon arriving? Yeah, it was under the Half Moons Bay of TreValla’s
shoreline. And TreValla? The epicenter of the Sahven council.

Yay.

“The causeway before this room is a requisite. They use that doorway,” he’d
answered.

“Holy vrekk, that is the coolest thing I’ve heard.” I breathed out.

A requisite, was a room that could change to suit one’s needs, with the help of
mahdra, of course. A back door would have been an easy task for it to accomplish.
Reading much on them, their origins were a bit cloudy on the fact that they had a
Sahven style to their rune design, but could also be credited to those bestowed
with little to no mahdra and their less structured way of thinking in order to work
around their muted abilities. Either way, the room I had now walked in and out of
and had utilized many times to get to the main library, had been a sleeper. It was
packing a bunch of mojo under the hood that I had been oblivious of.

That was something I was going to have to work on: my obliviousness…and draining
off power just to function and not spontaneously collapsing into a coma.

Goals.

And here I was trying to accomplish those said goals: TreValla. Before sundown.
Perched on the edge of a tailor’s shop, obscured in my robe, overlooking the
flowing gradient indigos and violets of the glittering shoreline below, breathing
in the fresh, well, somewhat fresh air. Feeling less like a reject and more like a
citizen, a clean one. The self-respect gained with the ability to bathe as often as
one wished, guided a newfound curiosity for the details that I had been glossing
over ever since I arrived on Haell. The security of having a base, one that I could
rely on, fueled a desire to interact and possibly meet new people.

Okay, that was a long-term goal. On this outing, I had a task.

Teetering the rooftop, robe swaying lightly in a westerly breeze, I watched the
heavyset, four-hoofed black draven deftly haul their wooden carts in and around the
bends of the radically sloped city of TreValla. Their long, double-pronged, horned
heads bowed and kept traffic moving, and their guttural grumbles kept the citizens
from out of the center lane of purplish-gray cobblestones where the large beasts
worked.

Mostly.

Being that they were omnivorous meant that it wasn’t entirely uncommon to have a
bite taken out of a passerby if the draven hadn’t been maintained and properly
cared for. In fact, the lower you got in the city, the more dangerous they tended
to be. The dredges claimed to have had a few wild strays of young, fanged draven
that were completely carnivorous. In a city with well over a million residents with
no fields to graze on, those were in the flatlands bordering TreValla’s southeast,
the small starving beasts had no option but to hunt.

Standing, I stretched a bit and flexed my feet, my toes relishing in the feel of
newly cobbled soles. They still needed broken in, but considering what I had been
wearing before, they were a dream for roof jumping. Even the unfinished hem of my
robe had been taken up and sewn properly, the sleeves remaining unchanged by my
request. It was all part of the illusion of being rejected. Put me in something
tailored and fitted? Yeah, hard pass. My anonymity would go poof. I didn’t need
people’s second glances or their questions keeping me from what I was supposed to
be doing.

And what I was trying to accomplish was the key to my survival here. If I wanted to
stay on Haell, active and awake with no narcoleptic episodes, I needed to release
some of my energetic pressure, secretly. Which sounded really gross the first time
when Keeper Rescoven described it as such. Little metaphysical silent-but-
hopefully-not-deadlies in and around TreValla was what it came down to. But it made
sense. If I could manage little bits here and there, spread the drops throughout
the city, then I couldn’t be traced and wouldn’t explode the coast. Vahlta Hall was
an important and powerful tool, or ally—I liked to think of the library as a tad
sentient—but it could only handle so much of this sister of celestials. Its
reserves had a limit and we didn’t want to constantly test its capacity with me.

So I had to roam. Every day, or night. That was what the keeper and I had decided.
And I thought I’d been doing decent so far.

Peering up and to my right, I could still see a glimpse of the top of the library,
its glass dome small from here, peeking out and glinting in the twin suns.

Vahlta Hall was located midway in the tiered city. Resting at the secluded end of a
business district street, it spliced off from the typical Z patterns that the
sloping and ascending roads followed. Respectable, appropriately sized, and
unassuming from the outside, the library was partially built into the cliff’s edge
of smooth blanhk stone that was a slightly iridescent, gray rock. The front boasted
a stately, but steep set of stairs leading up to the double doors, while on the
other side existed a narrow, stone stairway rising to the higher street behind
where the requisite door would appear, or disappear at Rescoven’s wishes.

Already well enough downward to have released some of my energy, feeling weird not
to have such vise-like control over my core as I normally fought for, I also felt
free, my personally placed binds loosening themselves with the knowledge of having
someone to go home to, also having a real home. Surety was nice.

Ducking a clothesline, jumping onto the top of a skywalk and crossing it and the
street below me, I then headed down and left. The area here was another business
district, but as this one was full of color, it was obvious that I was getting
lower in the city, closer to the bay.

Being that it rained various shades of purple, a side effect from living by the
coast, the people in the lower tended to paint their homes in all different shades
of vibrant color that served as a protectant to keep their dwellings from being
stained. According to texts, a healthy organism—luuva, similar to algae—located in
the bay was responsible for this through the evaporation process.

Very dramatic on stormy days.

If you peered upward, however, you could see that unlike the city houses and
businesses below, the homes and merchant buildings of the altitude-blessed began to
bleach in their vibrancy, sloughing off the remnants of the 'classless' and gaining
their dignity in muted hues going from painted grays to gray blanhk stone, to
lighter pristine veins of it used the higher one went.

Though you couldn’t really see all the way up, adding that I had never been further
than the library, the only information I had on the Sahven homes was gained from
books. I read that they resided amidst carefully cultivated parks, and through
their posh trees, their homes gleamed in a stainless, white blanhk stone, protected
by mahdra. And gates.

Lots of security.

It was probably pretty. A bit boring, too, I would think.

Dodging more strung-up laundry, I maneuvered just in time as a Falk boy jumped
opposite of me and headed off in another direction. Jumping down, I reached the
ledge of a balcony and then leaped onto another edge until I got to the street. I
would feel weird traveling this way—I mean, it was a bit intrusive with landing on
people’s homes and such, but, that was the way of TreValla. If you were a runner or
courier, this was how you got through the city with speed. The multilevel homes and
covered skyways were flat for this reason.

It was chaotic and dangerous and incredible.

And when I first arrived, I found that it was safer to be out of the way until I
knew more about Haell and the people it consisted of. Now that I had been here for
a while, I wasn’t about to give it up.

My new kicks helped, too, not to mention my questionable reassembled super biology.
That was dope.

I snorted, finding myself funny.

A large, older man turned, startled to see I was there and quickly bustled off. I
almost said boo, however, that translation in TreValla Common was something akin to
a rear-end cut of meat on livestock, and considering he just stepped in manure to
get away from me, I didn’t want to insult the guy any further now that he smelled
like said rear-end.

A few buildings down, the mixed savory and spicy scents of the worker’s preferred
fare wafted through the street, eclipsing the fresh draven odor that usually
lingered. Colors were painted everywhere: facades of buildings, shutters, signs,
sun sails; some were vibrant, some faded, all demanding to be seen. Lines of males
bustled, and most jovially harassed each other as they waited their turn for food.
This close to the docks, I doubt they had personal kitchens at home.

Adding to that, I doubt they had any company waiting for them at home. For the most
part, many workers and dredgers lived in communal housing and weren’t able to have
families, as females were outnumbered here and had plenty of vying males to fight
over them. This entire street was their cafeteria.

And now mine, too. I walked into a nearby establishment. I had always wanted to try
the flaky meat pies from this vendor. And in truth, I didn’t want to be uptown. I
noticed I received less condemnation and rebuke as a citizen wearing the robes of
the rejected here, than higher up in the city. And before you ask, yes, Resco would
have gotten me food as he had done these last few days, the pepka biscuits he
ordered were divine, but I was bored and a tad more confident than usual.

“Order up!” A burly Falk, one of three behind the counter, threw a paper bag over a
few heads. His intended customer, five men back, caught it effortlessly.
Smooth.

I shuffled up unobtrusively as I could while managing to find a place in line

amongst the tall, gray Falk and even a few PyRoch males—picture gray eyes, greenish
skin, shorter ears than a Falk but similar in articulation, and short horns that
emerged up and out from their temples. Many PyRoch worked in agriculture in the
southeast, but the city was a big draw for all kinds. They were a bit wider and
stronger than the Falk’s more lithe frame—they were all huge to me—but for the most
part, similarly built.

Receiving a few sneers and side-eye looks, I continued to stand while most ignored
me and allowed me to wait with them, the bodies around me smelling like sweat, salt
water, and an alcohol of some sort. Regardless, I was happy to be there. I felt
bouncy.

The last place I’d patronized when I had found the other shellons from Resco, the
customers and staff were less than friendly. I was further up TreValla’s tiers
then. I had received leftover rolls even though I had given plenty of coin and
ordered something different. But no matter. It was exhilarating at the time. But
also the reason why I had been so reticent about really exploring the city. Until
now.

And also the reason why I didn’t eat.

Ever.

Turned out hunger hurt my body for a while, but nothing ever happened and I
eventually realized food wasn’t necessary for my, celestial, kind. Besides, the
keeper didn’t like crumbs, remember? Also, little gross here, and a bit concerning
if I were anyone else, but I hadn’t had to use a restroom since…Haven? Been
pondering that one for a while now, wondering if I should be concerned.

Nah.

The line was moving slowly, but no matter. Mouth already watering in anticipation,
my stomach having gotten used to sustenance these last few days, my plan was to get
the pie and take my goods roof-side to eat in relative privacy.

The line filled up at my back and conversations boomed all around cramming the
place with noise. As I waited, I caught on to one exchange in particular. Directly
behind me, deep in a hushed conversation amidst the din of the bustling food stalls
and businesses calling out in the background, I tuned in. They were speaking in
Common.

There was a long-suffering, deep groan, then a baritone voice to accompany it.
“Face it, there’s no way to improve our rank. Every single one of them was born
midtown or higher. The best we can hope for is to do our jobs—jobs we should be
grateful to have—”

“Don’t feed me that draven shivit. I know just how lucky we are to have gotten on
with the Black Line. But that’s precisely my point. We beat the odds. We made it.
We were obviously good enough to meet Lord Theros’s expectations even without
mahdra. But we can do more. Especially out-work that sniveling ass that claims
investigations are for the highborn!”

“Jero, calm down and lower your voice. You just need food. I swear every time you
bring this shivit up it’s because you didn’t eat in the commons before we set out.
You probably were trying to get us reclassified again—wait, were you?” A sigh. “You
can’t keep doing this.”
Silence.

"I just…I know we are better than Previn and his group,” the voice of Jero said.

“Yeah, I know we are better than a lot of the groups on the Line, but must you
fixate on Previn? It gets old.”

Shuffling, I went forward in the queue a few feet. As much as I was enjoying the
conversation and entertainment, it was a tad frustrating to realize the major gap
in my education. I knew very little on the specific names of families, political
agendas, factions, and real-time events.

I needed to fix that.

“Previn is the reason why we can’t raise our level, Braghen! I’ve seen him. He
talks to the Court Master and points his finger laughing in our direction. He is
trying to keep us down because he knows he’d lose his position soon if we were able
to reclassify and—”

“You hear yourself, right?—he keeps us down. That’s what you said. Jero, in their
eyes we were born down here, we will work down here, and we will stay down here
because that’s our only direction in life—it’s down!”

There was a moment of silence. “Damn Brag, calm down.”

“You son of a drunken draven’s—”

Laughter.

“I think you need to eat, too. You’re too sensitive.” There was grumbling, but I
sensed an agreement. The familiarity between the two indicated some form of working
relationship that clearly allowed this kind of bearing of grievances and honesty.

Just then, the male in front of me moved to the side having just placed his order.
Taking a few steps, I inhaled a quiet breath as the older Falk behind the counter
looked down and took in my robe. “I’d like a—”

He cut me off. “I don’t give handouts. Move on.”

“What? No, I have money.” I frantically searched my pockets. “I can pay you
upfront. Here,” I said, finally finding the shellons, more than enough needed to
buy a pie.

“Seller’s rights and I say no,” he said. “Your charity-given coins will only taint
my coffers having touched your hands. Move on.”

Well. That sucked. Turning around, I began to retreat.

Chapter six

Shockingly, someone nudged my reject shoulder.

Peering back I eyed the two men who I had been listening to. One was a slightly
shorter Falk, the other a burly looking PyRoch male with a nose that had healed
broken. Both had on black military-type clothing: pants bloused in lace-up boots,
double-breasted sturdy looking long-sleeve shirts, and a silver sash around their
waists near their belted scabbards. A uniform to which I had come across a few
times from a distance, but really had no reference to. They were in their twenties
or early thirties.

Not that I was a good judge on age. I was probably ancient…though if I were to
interpret the Sisters’ feelings on me, I was a baby. Best just think of me as a
walking contradiction.

Easier that way.

“Here,” the shorter male said with his palm out. Sounded like the one who was Jero.
“Give me the money, I’ll pay for you.” He waited as I hesitated. “Look, I’m not
going to steal from you. I’d be strung up by Lord Theros if I went against the oath
to his house,” he said, a bit impatient.

“Just do it,” the other man said. Braghen was his name. “Jero is hungry and so am
I, and this vendor here—what’s your name merchant?” he asked with authority.

“Oth…sir,” the man behind the counter said, though a bit reluctantly.

“Oth here is going to take our order because if he doesn’t, he would be removing
himself from Lord Theros’ protection by refusing to serve a member of the Black
Line and thus exposing his business to thieves and stiffer rent. Am I right, Oth?”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled.

“Great!” Jero said with a clap. “Hand it over, I’m starving.”

“Okay. Thank you,” I said, passing over the shellons. “I wanted to try the Vrox
meat pie.”

Jero walked to the counter. “You hear him, Oth? The kid here wants a Vrox meat pie—
make that three of them. And no spitting in our food. That’s just nasty.”

“Right,” Oth grumbled. “Step to the side and your order will be called soon.”

We did as he asked and made our way to the left where a large group of men were
talking amongst themselves while standing. Every small cafe table was occupied and
there wasn’t much room to find a spot and chill. Not if you needed more space
because of one’s anathema status as rejected. A tankard of ale tipped over at a
nearby table and a chorus of shouts, curses, and then laughter filled the room. I
did the best I could to stay out of the way and ended up in a corner near the back
wall.

Surprisingly, the two Black Line guards followed.

“We’ll make sure you get your food, kid,” Jero said to me, then turned to his
partner resuming their earlier conversation, caring little if I was listening. “If
we can prove that something is going on in the dredges and the rest of the lower,
then we can make a case for trying to open an official investigation—led by us.”
Braghen just scanned the crowd and grunted. “And the only way to do that is to
properly interview that Xyclanov kid. I know he's hiding something,” Jero said,
eyeing the pies being wrapped and bagged.

Order names were still being called out, however, the crowd wasn’t dispersing. As
quickly as men would leave, more would come in.

“You may be right, but I don’t speak fish and not many people do considering how
wary of strangers their clans are,” Braghen said.

My ears perked up.

The Xyclanov clans were indeed very secretive I had read, though not as bad as the
Sahven. From what I was able to gather from books written on the subject by other
races, Xyclanov—a bluish green people, gills on the back of their ears, webbed
fingers and toes—had no written language. Stories were passed down by their spirit
crones and their culture viewed outsiders as suspect and dangerous. I could
understand the language just fine, thanks to the Sisters, but speaking it properly
had only come about after having heard it spoken. It was only from my former cave
that I used to call home that I was able to overhear their words since it was
perched right over the docks where many Xyclanov males found work. I was able to
listen in on numerous, sleepless nights when the wind was still and the acoustics
bouncing off the cliff face were just right. And while many of them knew TreValla
Common, they usually only spoke their language to each other when they thought no
one was listening.

These two probably weren’t going to get their information from the boy.

“He probably knows Common,” Jero said with a tired sigh.

“Yeah, probably. But in that boy’s eyes, he’s not risking the wrath of Lord Theros
as long as he tells the truth in his native tongue, and he’s not outing any secrets
his clan may have if he spoke in Common.” Braghen folded his large arms across his
chest. “It’s a solid plan on his part. Keeps him safe. I can’t say I wouldn’t do
the same thing as a kid if I felt I was being torn between loyalty and the law.”

“Yeah, well in this case he’s not doing any favors to his clan. Something isn’t
right. We’ve found two bodies already this month and that’s not counting the other
groups who walk the lowers. If we could properly investigate and collaborate
resources, not spend our days intervening in fights, something might actually be
done about it.”

Minutes passed in silence from the two. Not once did they stop looking around and
analyzing the crowd.

The big guy’s brow was furrowed in thought. “We can always take Fon aside and ask
him for a favor,” Braghen offered with a shrug.

“Are you kidding? Fon may know some Ath’Vela, but I doubt fish. And he’s had his
nose up Previn’s ass and the team’s for so long that I think he’s addicted to their
shivit at this point. If he has any loyalty, it’s to them.”

“True.”

“Order up! Three Vrox!” a worker behind the counter, not Oth, called out searching
for the uniformed males in particular.

“That’s us,” Jero said, walking through the congestion and grabbing the brown paper
bag. Braghen didn’t wait at the wall with me, just headed toward the exit where
Jero was directed after the counter. Trailing behind, I passed some rude stares but
otherwise was ignored. It helped that the crowd allowed room for the two Black Line
members to pass while I followed in their wake. Outside, Jero reached into the pack
and pulled out a huge wrapped pie the size of his hand.
“One spit-free Vrox pie, kid,” he said, proffering it my way.

I grabbed it quickly as if he may renege on the deal. But then I remembered myself.
“Thank you,” I muttered quickly, placing the large pie in my deep robe pocket.
Immediately, I turned and ran off.

I heard them laugh. “You’re welcome!”

Up on a skywalk within a few moments, I was jumping rooflines and dodging smoke
stacks whilst having an inner debate on the pros and cons of getting involved in
something I knew nothing about. My way of life, my ability to blend, my anonymity,
and quite possibly my freedom was certainly at stake if I entangled myself in the
city’s problems. And boy, it had problems aplenty.

I continued on.

Yet…

Not the Sisters talking here, but for some reason I knew those two were relatively
decent people. Or maybe it was the Sisters’ influence—indirectly in this context—
because I felt that perhaps I had some kind of inner warning system to indicate
when to withhold trust, or to occasionally bestow it, like in this case. In
increments, of course. One kind act of service didn’t equate to complete belief in
another, no. But, it could start the process.

The question was, did I want to start that process?

Skidding to a stop at the edge of a roof, I waited, thinking. Off in the distance I
heard a draven bray angrily and then a loud crash. Yelling ensued, and then soon
cries of pain. Someone just got gored. That sucked, but it happened. Probably just
a minor run-through with the horns. Normally the fatal ones were silent.

Taking out my meat pie, unwrapping it, I pondered. After some time I chanced a
glance down the lane over my shoulder and scanned the street for their dark
uniforms. Small, and in the distance, they were already taking their last bites
standing by a waste barrel about to throw their trash in. Must have been good food
to have eaten that fast.

Oh vrekk it.

Shrugging my shoulders I took out the pie and bit into it as I turned around to
follow them. “Damn, this is good,” I mumbled to myself, inhaling more bites.

On the run, I began downing it. Jumping a seven-foot gap, I smoothly kept going,
robe flapping backward, food in hand. Gaining on them, the Black Line guards were
just below me about two stories, but now on the move downward. I needed to get in
front of them. Leaping across the street and down, I skidded to a stop on a first-
floor terrace windmilling my arms a moment. Taking the final bite, because
priorities, I took a running jump and landed in a roll on the cobblestone road.

Standing up and straightening my robes, I garbled, “Parkour!” Then snorted at my

joke, choking a bit from the food lodged in there.

They stopped short. “Uh…hey, kid,” Jero said, confused. Not entirely shocked
though. This was the lowers.

“You need to chew your food properly. You could choke,” Braghen said with his thick
PyRoch accent, crossing his arms. They both waited after that. Obviously, in their
eyes, I had interrupted them for a reason.
Chewing a bit, I swallowed. “So yeah,” wiping my mouth real quick, “um, I can help
you with the Xyclanov boy.”

Braghen let out a huff, but otherwise didn’t react. Jero, casting a quick look at
his partner said, “Look kid, I know you probably need some more shellons, but we
can’t help you there. I can refer you to a workhouse that is decent—”

“I have a very nice bed and don’t need money, so no, but thank you. What I mean is
I’m a…polyglot.” I rolled my eyes at the absurdity of using that last term. I was
getting languages mixed up.

“A what now?” Jero asked before I could amend my mistake.

“I am, multilingual,” I said once again in TreValla Common, trying to adjust. “I

can speak, write, and understand multiple languages.”

Giving me a pitying look, his eyes betrayed his thoughts loudly like I was trying
too hard, my words a bit desperate. Rejects like me weren’t educated. “Yeah, you
may want to tone that down a pinch. It’s one thing if you are a Xyclanov under
those robes, or some kind of hybrid the clan is ashamed of—that would make more
sense, you claiming to know some of their language even if they don’t typically let
rejects in their clans live—but a…what’s the word?”

“Polyglot,” Braghen supplied with a growl, but he was glaring at Jero.

“Calm down, you know what I meant,” Jero said to Braghen. To me, he shared, “But
yeah, a ‘polyglot’ sounds a bit too scholarly to me, and we all know you aren’t one
of those. This city doesn’t exactly promote literacy unless you have money, and
clearly, you’ve had some…hard times.” The universal cringe face was cast in my
sorry direction. He was doling out some tough, but probably accurate advice.

For someone other than me.

“All I want to do is help you since you helped me with the Vrox pie. Heck, I don’t
even know what the Black Line is—you could be mafia members for all I know. But I
figure assisting you two would help the city and possibly prevent more dead people
from popping up so, here I am,” I said. In Xyclanov. It was an unmistakable tongue
to anyone who had ever heard it before. A lot of clicks and oooz’s and hawking up
some cool sounding loogies meant to carry well through the water.

Their eyes got big and they turned to one another.

“And you said you know more than one language?” Braghen asked tentatively, eyes
considering, yet still narrowed on me once again.

I answered him affirmatively in a lengthy PyRoch statement, then turned to Jero and
replied the same if Falk. “As I said,” I shrugged, “I’m multilingual.” Among other
things, all improbable and suspect.

“Wait, wait, wait—you’re saying you know a whole bunch of languages—like, more than
these,” Jero counted, “four you’ve already spoken? And you can read and write in
them? Fluently?”

Technically they had also heard an English term and that would’ve made five.

“Yes,” I said, nodding. Fluent for the most part, anyway. I read books on the
living groves from this planet, different continent, and technically they had a
language, but nothing spoken, per se. A lot of limbs were required though and
unless they had some telepathic way of communication, pretty sure I wasn’t fluid in
speaking tree. Mind you, the Sisters would help me understand it just fine.

“Okay,” Jero said, bringing his palms together in a steeple and touching his mouth.
“Translate this—” and then he spoke a few quick monosyllables and slung a clumsy
sentence together.

If it wasn’t for my hood they would have seen me blushing red, mouth open. And that
was saying a lot considering my genesis and where I recently used to live.

“What did you just say to him?” Braghen demanded of Jero.

“The only words I know in Ath’Vela.”

“So curse words then,” Braghen said, long-suffering. He uncrossed his arms and
looked skyward, then down. “And you wonder why we can’t climb up the ranks?”

“Oh relax, you’re no upper saint—and neither are the ivory, upper saints,” Jero
added. “Well?” he inquired of me.

I fidgeted. With my upbringing on Haven it was as if I had been born into a profane
spacer’s prison already, and there, all words were seen as exciting opportunities
for my fellow, feral clonies and me to discover and utilize. Improper, crude, or
impolite were laughable concepts, if not completely foreign to us. That said, I was
still a bit shocked at the imagination of this author’s sentence. I doubt even Jero
knew exactly what it meant. Either way, I wasn’t a lily-white saint, either. Never
was. And many four letter English terms were still my emotional support words even
now, not to mention the middle finger…not that it carried the same weight when
displayed under a sleeve on an alien planet.

Bringing my shoulders back, I quoted the sentence word for word, translating it
into Common, but then correcting the phrasing of it again in Ath’Vela so he could
hear the correct form and pronunciation. May as well educate him properly.

There was silence.

And then Jero, eyes bugged out in shock, began hilariously laughing.

Braghen’s jaw dropped, his cheeks tinging a darker green in what I assumed was some
type of embarrassment. “You are one filthy person, you know that?” he said to Jero,
stabbing a huge finger at his partner’s chest. “You should be ashamed.”

“No, that was my cousin’s doing. Learned that gem from him. Actually, didn’t know
it meant all that,” he said, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Ah, that was good
stuff.”

I snorted. I couldn’t help it. Apart from being zealously protected, apparently
females weren’t entirely worshipped and held in as high of esteem as I originally
surmised. Not if there was a demand for translating crude yo mama jokes out there.

Jero clapped his hands once. “Right, kid,” he said and pointed at me, “let’s go
track down a Xyclanov."

Chapter seven
The dredges were our destination. The twin suns in the darkening violet sky were
just beginning to descend into the horizon as we made our way to the muddy waters
of the smaller ' moon' in Half Moons Bay. The area was under construction as
TreValla was building a new shipment yard and the dredging process for the moorings
of the warehouses was currently underway. Though technically, it was a
revitalization process. The area held the moniker of the 'dredges' long before the
upper aristocracy claimed they wanted new and improved buildings.

I knew it very well.

Jero led the way with Braghen next, and then myself trailing nearly at a jog just
trying to keep up with their purposeful strides. The breeze was stagnant being near
the cliffs of Drehd just above, and the brine and decaying ocean smells were ripe,
along with the sweat from the construction and dock workers.

If the city could burp, this place would be it. It wasn’t pretty.

But it did serve a purpose. All around us was a hub of movement with commands being
thrown out, pilings being treated with vats of tar, ropes and pulleys swinging from
above, and curse words being strung together with such fluidity and skill I
couldn’t help but take a mental note on their linguistic achievements.

The daytime docks were something I had tried to avoid by spending most of my time
at Vahlta Hall. In fact, it was only ever late at night when I heard the hushed
conversations of the Xyclanov workers. Casting a quick glance up, around three
hundred feet to the northwestern face, I could just make out the camouflaged cave
entrance where I used to sleep. Even from this perspective, my cache hole was
barely seen. It had been a good location, well hidden.

Every other aspect of it pretty much sucked.

“Braghen you check the import warehouse, I’ll check the outbound loading docks,”
Jero said, already set on his way.

Braghen, realizing he was stuck with me gave a grunt and slowed down a bit while
weaving his way through a maze of swinging nets and crates. It was a mix of races
at the docks, however, they all seemed to have mammoth size and scowling in common.
Especially toward me.

“No one will hire you, so move on,” a male said, glaring at my robe. He then spat
something rank off into the water. Wanting to respond and offer some friendly
advice regarding his raging mouth infection, I quickly thought better of it.

“He’s with me,” Braghen said without a backward glance.

That seemed to mollify the onlookers, though a few still glared with suspicion.
Having read that the rejected were seen as bad luck on the seas, being that the
Gods had cursed us with hideous deformities and contagions and would undoubtedly
curse their ships in the process with us on board, his attitude was unsurprising.
No matter. With me on their boats, I was positive I would have been a bad omen. Not
on purpose, no. Truth was, I hated water. Large bodies of water sucked. Gateway
jumps four and five proved that. And yes, Haell was my jump five.

I shuddered in remembrance.

“Keep your eyes out for a youth Xyclanov,” Braghen said. Then he examined me over
his shoulder. “He’d be taller than you.”
“No probs,” I said, forgoing the comment that they were all taller than me.

Casting my eyes about, I soaked up the scene and followed Braghen’s lead dutifully.
The entrance to the import warehouse was directly ahead. Stepping over a gigantic
metal anchor chain, I fell in step as we entered the dim, vast structure.
Immediately, I felt a pull of mahdra. And kudos to me, too. I had been trying to be
less oblivious to it. Even Rescoven was pleased with my rapidly improving honing
ability. Another innate trait from the Sisters, I guessed. All I had to do was pay
attention and sharpen it.

Work in progress, that.

Curious, but not wanting to get my face smashed in by an employee, I stayed near
Braghen. The grime coated and weather-beaten skylights scattered above offered only
a fraction of the already waning light from outside. Still, and probably due to my
enhanced eyesight, I was able to read the crate labels as I peered around looking
for the boy while surreptitiously trying to find the area with the mahdra.

Heck, it could have been a mahdra-spelled crane or something along those lines I
was sensing.

Pondering that, I wondered just then if their heavy equipment really was spelled.
Could they use mahdra as electricity to power complicated machines? I hadn’t read
up on that.

While Rescoven’s library was massive, it still had its limits and the Keeper
clearly had prejudices against certain genres. Ahem, romance, for one. I wouldn’t
say that to him, of course. I liked my eyes inside my sockets and not plucked out
by flying books, thank you very much. Not that I’d watched that scenario happen at
Vahlta Hall, no. But two years observing the keeper was nothing compared to his
long life already lived and my imagination could be terrifying.

Also, the reality of Rescoven’s capabilities was unquantifiable.

I snorted thinking of the griffin igniting Ptero’s hair. Good times. Braghen looked
at me askance.

“Uh, just remembered something,” I mumbled, waving off his raised brow. He shook
his head once and then kept scanning with a focused scowl. I continued on spurred
by curiosity, my eyes peeled for the boy or a legit apparatus with levers, but then
deflated a little when I remembered that the mouth infection said they wouldn’t
hire me here.

So sad. No driving a mahdra forklift for me then.

For the most part, work was being done at the receiving bay near the water’s edge
where we had just come from, and then at the opposite end where a few draven carts
waited at the outgoing loading dock. We were relatively alone in the middle of the
building. All that was missing was some mysterious music and an Ark of the Covenant
being deposited amidst Roswell remains.

Stopping, Braghen huffed and put his hands on his hips. He looked left, then right,
but then fixated on something in particular, something he knew to look for. Coming
to a conclusion, he pointed. “Can you read those? The acca wood crates over there?
The oversized ones?” he asked.

“Sure, no problem,” I said, with a nod. I began our trek over to the far wall,
Braghen letting me lead. But as we neared, the mahdra got thicker, more pervasive.
Well, trick.

Something wasn’t right. There was a discord in the area that felt…putrid? Whatever
I was sensing wasn’t a forklift and not some golden movie prop, either. In fact,
all seriousness came over me. Which was saying something.

My heart began beating faster.

Glancing over my shoulder I checked to make sure we were alone. Braghen tensed. He
knew something was off with this section of crates, no doubt that was why he
suggested it. Scanning the area, I noticed a second floor office with hazy windows
that appeared to have never been cleaned in all their existence. A lone male stood
on the stairway landing, arms crossed, and blatantly staring down at us. He was
Falk.

Speaking PyRoch in a hushed tone, I mentioned this to Braghen.

Clenching his jaw, he replied in his native tongue by saying, “I know. He keeps
showing up whenever we come here.” He didn’t sound happy about it. “He ran off the
Xy kid last time.”

Finally, reaching the crates, we stopped. I read the label to myself just because
that was the whole point of coming over here, but saw nothing amiss, nothing there
to explain the insidious creeping feeling. So I got to the real issue.

Frack.

Okay, we had a problem. Multiple problems. One being there was no way I could lie.
Realizing I was breathing a bit differently, I fidgeted when undoubtedly Braghen
noticed, as well. He said something to me, but I couldn’t really hear him, not with
what I was seeing—or feeling. And in part, I didn’t know how I was picking up on
it. There was a fairly large, intricate spell on the acca wood crates…sensible
being that acca wood was a decent, cost-effective conductor, I’d read.

Focus.

I couldn’t quite grasp the exact meaning of the runes on the crates by reading
them, but I knew the gist of it by sensing it, and it was hiding and silencing what
lay inside. Something I was awfully picking up on. Also acting as a lock. A strong
one.

“What is it?” Braghen asked, ready for battle with a hand on his sword’s pommel.

Keenly sensing the threat looking down on us by the looming Falk, I didn’t know
what to say or what to do. But something had to be done. “Uh, just inspection dates
regarding transport and arrival. Looks like an incoming shipment of Ath’Vela
fabrics and miscellaneous large furniture items with a Halek provenance. Pick up
date is in a few days,” I answered. I didn’t exactly lie. That was exactly what the
labels said.

I needed time to think.

Just then Jero jogged into the warehouse from the loading doors in the back. Seeing
us at a distance he increased his pace, closing in. Most likely Jero knew the body
language of Braghen and didn’t like what he saw. “What is it? What happened?” he
asked as he came up to us, ready to help.

“Ask him,” Braghen said, pointing to me.

“I—” I didn’t know what to do. “Is that the Xyclanov kid?” I flopped my sleeve to
signal the way, hoping we’d all follow after.

“No, the little shiv jumped into the water as soon as he saw me. He’s long gone,”
Jero said in frustration. “Now, what happened? Is it these crates? This is where we
found and attempted to interview the boy before. Are they related?”

Frantically trying to come up with the right words, I saw the Falk overseer heading
down towards us. Somehow, he had signaled three other brutes to follow behind him.
I stiffened.

“I think we just need to call it a loss,” Braghen said in Common using a different
tone, aware of the unwanted attention we were drawing. He knew something was going
on with the crates, but he was undoubtedly sensing my turmoil, too, my reticence to
explain.

Catching on, Jero’s body language went from on alert, to a let’s just finish out
the day and go home trope of a tired public enforcer. “Fine,” he said loudly enough
to be overheard, “We need to bring this one back to holding, anyway. He hasn’t
proved helpful.”

Thank the Goddesses.

Grabbing my sleeve forcefully enough to make it seem that I was a criminal in his
care, Braghen began to pull me to the exit. Shocking that he was touching a reject
like me at all, but that wasn’t important. The male came up to us with the others
positioning themselves around our group. We stopped.

“Once again I’ve been graced with the lowest guards of the Black Line,” he laughed
with a hack, his voice thick with a dredger’s accent. “Just a friendly jest. Did
you find your slippery little friend from last time? I’m assuming that’s why you
came,” he said, sneering in a way that indicated he knew full well the two guards
weren’t successful.

“Not today. We appreciate your help on that matter, too,” Jero said, appreciating
nothing.

I was tight as a bowstring.

The newcomer put his hands up, his ears twitching. As a Falk he was a bit taller
than Jero, but not as much as Resco. His face had scarring from past blemishes and
his teeth looked like a few were dead at the root, nearly black. Another mouth
infection.

“Hey now, you know I’m here to run a business. Not babysit workers who may or may
not be in trouble from the law. Besides, the boy is off shift now. No harm with him
leaving the office,” he said with a laugh.

“Right, and would you be aware of when he will be ‘in the office’ next?”Jero asked.

“Sorry, no,” he said, shaking his head. “You see, I’m considering letting him go.
Don’t like the distractions that come with him.” Feigning surprise, he put a hand
up to his mouth. “Not meaning you two, of course,” he looked down at me, “or the
highborn company you keep.” He sniggered. “No—you know how the Xyclanov are: very
nomadic and shifty. Can’t trust someone like him. He won’t be showing for another
shift.”

“Sure. Well, we’ll be on our way then. The Black Line thanks you for your
cooperation,” Jero said, the last line coming out flat.

“Always. And may Lord Theros’s house be well.”

They towed me with authority through the surrounding males as we left.

Minutes later, dodging draven, potholes, and the rowdy denizens of the lower, I
found myself pulled into a narrow, hidden alleyway that smelled of salt and
whatever seemed to be decaying in the baskets near us. Turning me around, we faced
each other in the rapidly fading twilight. I had time to think on it the way here
so I knew what I was going to say. Didn’t make it any easier, or less complicated.

“Talk, kid,” Jero demanded.

Braghen was frowning at me, or perhaps it was just the whole situation.

Swallowing, I croaked, “They are hiding people. Trafficking them, I think. About
thirteen are in those few crates, maybe more. Some weren’t breathing,” I said, my
voice trembling. Slave trade was very illegal on Haell.

“Then why didn’t you say anything then? Dammit we need to go back—”

Braghen spoke up. “No Jero, think about it. Why didn’t we notice this?”

“I don’t know! But we knew something wasn’t right the last time. We need to—”

“Mahdra, Jero. It’s spelled.”

And then they both turned to me. Jero looking at my robe shocked, Braghen more
contemplative.

“The kid here can apparently sense mahdra,” Braghen stated.

A hush fell over our trio for a moment.

“Is this true?” Jero eventually asked, demanding.

“Yes,” I said. “I can sense it and its purpose.” An ability that still needed
honing. “The crates had three intense layers of spells I think for masking it,
silencing it, and locking it, inside and out. I would have—”

“Opened it? Yeah, why didn’t you? Those crates have been there for at least three
days! If you say some of them aren’t breathing, then pretty sure more are going to
stop breathing soon,” Jero exclaimed. He ran his hand over his head and looked
around in frustration.

“I would have done something if I could, but I’m not…strong enough in mahdra.” Lie,
sort of. I had two levels of power. One: my weak-sauce release of pressure from the
stored mahdra. And two: nuclear. I had no in-between. I couldn’t unlock those
cages. I was too much. And it was a fact I’d come to know for a while now. In my
absolute saturation of mahdra and my ties to the divine of the universe, turned out
I was wholly inadequate on multiple fronts when it came to small scale. There was
no learning how to manipulate mahdra. In a land of seven foot giants wielding
mahdra deftly and expertly, I was a Kraken of the deep under reject’s clothing. A
crusher only useful in terms of annihilating indiscriminately.

Braghen narrowed his eyes at me, perhaps not fully trusting my answer.
Nevertheless, he turned to Jero. “We need to go back to the compound and tell the
Court Master. Now.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Good. Inching away from them, I slid myself sideways
on the wall toward freedom.

“Oh no—you’re coming with us. Master Durath won’t believe us without a witness. And
since he’s mahdra blessed, too, he’ll know if you’re lying,” Jero said, grabbing my
sleeve.

My jaw dropped and I spoke plaintively, “I told the truth!” Revealed a lot about
myself in the process, as well. Stuff that could frack up my life here if they felt
so inclined. Which, it seemed, they did.

“But we don’t know that for sure, do we?” Jero said, pulling me now.

“Jero, we’ve got to go up. Navigating the roads will take too long,” Braghen
pointed out, scoping the nearest roof.

“You’re right. What about him?” He shook me.

Braghen looked at me, really looked. His tone was dead serious when he said, “We
need you to cooperate. If we bring zero witnesses for the cloaked mahdra, then
there will be no rescue party. They simply won’t believe us. We don’t have enough
rank or respect from them to take us at our non-blessed words.”

If he was right, and he probably was, I had no choice. Shaking, I attempted to run
my hand over my head, but I came in contact with my hood. “Ah, trick,” I groaned.

“No shivit, let’s go,” Jero said. He began dragging me as Braghen jogged off and
hauled himself up a small balcony, going higher soon after. I ripped my sleeve from
his grasp.

“Don’t pull. I will keep up—you have my word. I don’t want those people to die,
either.” I gestured for him to lead.

“For someone blessed with mahdra, you live a real lousy life,” he said with a side-
eye look at my crappy robe before he ran off.

“Rude,” I said.

He started a run, I followed.

We were topside in a few moments and rapidly crossing and jumping in a pattern. Our
destination was up, not shocking, and we had a lot of altitude to conquer. They
were efficient, but I knew I was better in terms of speed and accuracy on picking a
path. However, since I knew nothing about the compound and where it was located, I
trailed behind them, allowing them to lead.

Minutes passed while the city blurred around us. My large robe furled behind me as
I continued in a rhythm. All of us were locked in our thoughts, wondering if we
were going to be too late, worrying if the dock workers were hiding the 'evidence'
as we sought help. I couldn’t dwell on that. We would make it.

“Just where is this place we’re headed?” I called out while leaping and sticking a
grab on the side of a building, pulling myself up fluidly and resuming my run.

Jero, giving me a quick, scathing look over his shoulder, responded, “First you’re
educated, next you’re blessed, but now you want to claim you’re stupid?” He
scoffed.
“I’m not from here, just so you know,” I said, a bit perturbed. We were both
stressed.

“Fine—it’s upper mid-tier, east cliffside,” he replied as if I were dumb.

Just then we caught up with Braghen, him proving to be just a tad slower. Knowing
the vicinity of where we were headed kept me from asking him more questions,
however. I thought I remembered seeing a large compound across the cratered expanse
of the city, right around the same level as Vahlta Hall, just opposite. Its size
was impressive, even from a distance. And it looked nearly white in the midday sun.

That meant money. Just who was this Lord Theros?

Keeper Rescoven would undoubtedly know this information. Wonder what he’d make of
me botching this little outing tonight? But then again, if it wasn’t for me getting
involved, those people in the warehouse wouldn’t have been seen at all, the mahdra
undetected. They would have had zero chance of being rescued.

I ran a bit faster passing Jero, Braghen already behind. I needed to make sure that
this recovery was going to be successful. I had sensed thirteen breathing bodies in
those crates, but the residue of expired mahdra remained. There had been more
people alive at one point.

Also, though I hadn’t explained this yet to the two enforcers, I was pretty sure
every single one of those captives had mahdra capabilities, hence the reason why I
was able to count them. Their mahdra was minimal, but it was there.

Was it slave trade, or something else?

Pretty soon we were no longer climbing, but traversing laterally. The rooftops and
other buildings flew by in our peripheral as our eyes were locked onto the
cliffside, nearing the compound destination swiftly. Reaching a large expanse of
white wall, we slowed and jumped down nearing a main gate. It was etched in
blatant, powerful runes of protection. The Black Line members must stay in shape
because Jero and Braghen were not even breathing hard.

Neither was I for that matter. But I was weird.

Following both of them, I crossed the threshold of the two-story double-gated

entry. The underlying mahdra of the compound buzzed continually. Funny that here,
it was right out in the open, some of its runes exposed to the elements. Yet at the
library, the mahdra and spell work was designed in a clandestine approach, cloaked,
making someone like me guess twice about what I was sensing.

Not that there was a right or a wrong. Just interesting.

Even after sundown, the place seemed busy. Jero led in front, Braghen at the rear,
and I was sandwiched in the middle. Similarly uniformed men walked around with
purpose, heading to one outbuilding or another. I only received a few questioning
looks, but for the most part I was passed off as some reject miscreant 'being taken
care of'.

Peering around as we continued through, the sizable plaza we entered was built as a
multifunctional amphitheater. The gates opened up at the lowest cobblestone level
where a few building and office entrances were, but stairs surrounded everything.
Though I couldn’t see much, the lower buildings had rooms that went further back
suggesting they were built into the mountain and served as a foundation for the
entire multitiered compound. At the top right side of this, peering across all that
the white ramparts encircled, sat the main house. It was built similarly to Vahlta
Hall as it was designed into the cliff face.

Also, it was very large and imposing.

Jero took the center set of steps in the plaza. Ascent made, we continued further
back to another level where more alleys and additional buildings were. Taking a few
turns here and there, we stopped near a multi-leveled structure that possibly
served as a barracks, but entered through a separate door on the side. It looked
like a small waiting room with a few simple wooden chairs, a closed inner door, and
a window looking out at where we came.

“Stay with him here,” Jero said, addressing Braghen, but referring to me. Braghen
grunted. Jero knocked on the closed door.

Eventually a deep voice answered, “Come in.” Giving us a serious look, Jero stepped
into the office and closed the door.

Braghen and I just stood there while I focused on my feet and felt his gaze resting
on me. Was he waiting for me to run off? I didn’t know. Eventually, I peered up to
gauge his expression. Clenching his jaw, his eyes moved to the wall instead. He was
worried.

I was too.

“Is there a way you guys can carry some form of communication device? I mean,
something to warn others, or get the,” I searched for the word, “troops mobilized
faster if there is an emergency?” Like in this case.

I asked, not expecting him to describe anything close to a mobile chip, but surely
something was available that could speed up the process in the future. Most of the
books available to me made allusions to spells, though not describing them in any
way. You had to have clearance to read actual spell books.

Except for the Siron Pledge. Now that I think of it, that had been skillfully made
available to me by a certain book Keeper I knew.

Braghen looked at me funny. “Spelled parchment works.”

“Why don’t you guys use that, then?”

He turned to me more fully. “Where are you from?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

I waved my hand trying for casual. My sleeve flopped. “Oh, I kind of just move
around, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. Moving around takes coin and immigration papers. What also takes
coin is any spelled mahdra. Jero and I aren’t outfitted with spelled parchment
because we are bottom-level guards on the Line. We keep the peace, break up
skirmishes, nothing more.”

Oh. Right.

Also, I had binge read up on some of what he said a while back. Intercontinental
and domestic travel were highly monitored and required documentation. Time to
deflect. “Dang, so toilets and tubs in the city are powered by mahdra, but they
can’t afford to equip their enforcers with proper spelled paper? That sucks.” Look
at me, being his buddy and veering the conversation to criticize ’the man’. Could
work…
“No,” he said.

Frack.

Narrowing his eyes he clarified by saying, “Only upper households have their water
and sewage lines crafted with mahdra runes, if they’re connected to the city sewage
lines, at all. Also, parchment in and of itself is expensive, let alone paying for
a one-time use rune on it.” He uncrossed his arms and examined me closer. “Where do
you live? And how do you know multiple languages and yet know nothing about
TreValla?”

I laughed nervously. Lamely. I’d read a few architectural and engineering books.
None mentioned the specific logistics of handling the city’s waste. Also, somewhat
along that same vein, no books I had read mentioned the proper method of handling
the possible metaphorical knee-deep-in-waste situations of one’s making. That
information would’ve helped out right about now.

“And why are you wearing the robes of the rejected if you have mahdra? If you’re
blessed enough by the Gods, surely you could gain employment somewhere and be
treated…better.”

I noticed he and Jero kept saying blessed with a note of derision.

Just then a young uniformed boy ran out of the office with haste, intent on a
destination. Braghen snapped to and straightened. Following the youth, a large
older Falk male marched out and pierced me with intelligent, but mismatched gray
eyes. “You him?”

“Uh, yes?” I responded, straightening. Hopefully that was the right answer. I
didn’t think now was the time to correct their assumption of my gender.

“Right, Jero inform the elite guard we leave in two keviks. Braghen, you too. You
both will be accompanying the group,” the man ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Jero and Braghen both said, their expressions holding a large amount of
concern for the mission, but also a bit of excitement to be included. A big ol’ fat
adios to me, however. Or no adios, in this case. They left swiftly, without a
glance in my direction.

The matured, muscled Court Master held himself stiffly. I had a feeling that that
was his normal body language, not a result of the recent news from Jero. In fact,
he was very much focused and in control as he peered down at me. “I’m Durath.
What’s your name, son?” His tone was military-like. Succinct.

“Trick,” I said, gazing up nearly seven and a half feet. He had a direct stare, a
chiseled jawline, and a deep, graphite colored scar bisecting his brow ridge that
went through his left eye and down, past his gray cheek.

Cool, but not the time.

One side of his mouth lifted as he heard my name. “Trick, I am mahdra blessed, as
are you, I was told.” I nodded. “I have mastered an incantation for the detection
of lying,” he paused, “but I don’t have time for that right now and I usually only
use that on the worst type of suspects as it gives them violent diarrhea.”

“Oh. That’s gross,” I said.

“Indeed,” he agreed. “So given what Jero told me, you can detect mahdra, am I
correct? The wood was lined with spells you could feel?”
“Yeah.”

“How do you know there are people in the crate? Did you detect spells on them? Or
did you use mahdra yourself to reveal the contents?”

I faltered. “I don’t know any spellwork. It was…a guess.”

“Pretty harsh allegations being thrown out with a guess.” He narrowed his eyes and
crossed his arms. Leaning forward, he took a good look at my cloaked self. “Can you
feel mahdra spells on me right now?”

“Yes,” I answered before I could take it back.

“Even without physical contact? Not very many mahdra users can do that. In fact,
very few practitioners in Sahven history could do that unless it was through
decades upon decades of study under Sahven instruction.”

Dammit. “It’s just a weird ability of mine. Each user’s inherent mahdra sort of
feels different and I...” I stopped.

“I was speaking of spells, kid. You can detect an individual castor’s signature?”
He gave me a doubtful, then calculating look.

Unease creeping in, I shrugged warily. If I concentrated hard enough and paid no
mind to my typical meanderings of thought, I could get a feel for the spellcaster’s
aptitude as well. But I figured now wasn’t the time to go into all that.

“Interesting.” He paused, then shook his head as if dismissing an idea. “Well given
the time crunch and since I require skin contact to detect yours, I need to shake
your hand to verify that you have mahdra. Despite not enacting the truth spell,
I’ll know if you're lying, and I don’t tolerate liars well.”

My mouth opened. Ignoring the threat left unsaid, I blurted, “You don’t mind
touching me?”

“Son, I could care less what you look like under there. I need to verify a source
of information that has made a very bold, shocking claim that could be lies for all
I know. This is how I do that. Now put your hand out and stop delaying.”

I did so immediately.

Grasping my hand firmly, he then stepped back a bit. Instantly, I was receiving
data from his person, specifically his capacity to contain mahdra and how powerful
he currently was. And what was truly shocking, enough so that I let out a loud
gasp, was that somehow in my mind I knew I could increase his power.

See, the blessed I’d come to realize, were blessed not because they could make
mahdra, no. Not like me. They were unique because they could allow the energy of
Haell in themselves and store it, then utilize it as mahdra, as they call it. I, on
the other hand, made too much energy and was a bottomless pit for storing it. Well,
in comparison to others here, I had no end. I was a true enigma being a child of
the stars, their avatar walking on Haell and yet not actually imploding the place
despite the impossible gravitational mass of the Goddesses behind me.

But Durath here, I felt that I could stretch him out, make his well larger. It was
almost automatic, like I was fixing a problem of his. I was never going to be able
to practice mahdra here on a safe scale. But could I possibly do something else?
Like help people connect? It wasn’t even mahdra fueling me. It was something
entirely different. A gift from the Sisters possibly. If his capacity to hold the
energy was larger, his mahdra abilities would increase, as well…

But now was not the time. Had I actually started doing it?

Pulling my hand back, Master Durath stood, eyes transfixed on my form.

“What,” he began, but then went quiet. The distant sounds and nearby shouts in the
compound carried on outside.

I was shocked beyond words. It was the first time I’d ever made contact with a live
person since my change. Had I been capable of this all along?

“Sir, they’ve gathered!” a voice called out. I jumped. The young boy from earlier
slammed into the office, breathing in huge gasps of air. “They’re ready and await
your order.”

Durath nodded stiffly, but kept his gaze on mine. Turning, the boy left in a rush,
duties not yet done. Alone again, but only for a brief span, the court master
closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and took a deep, stabilizing breath, gaining
back some of the rock-hard composure from before our…connection?

He straightened his shoulders.

“You, girl, could start a war.” Durath gave me one last look, and then marched to
the door. He paused before he went through, peering down, contemplating his hand
and flexing it. “Keep that hood on and get lost…if you can.”

It didn’t sound like he thought I could.

Chapter eight

Turned out I couldn’t or wouldn’t. Get lost, that is. Oh sure, I had scrambled out
of Master Durath’s office and scaled the almost sheer perimeter wall like my robes
were on fire, contemplating his warning, or advice, or threat, all the way through
the darkness having no real memory of how I managed to get back to the library.

So yeah, that happened.

But, upon nearly entering the requisite door in back, I grew a backbone. Master
Durath could go and get lost. Not me. And what’s more, it’s not like I was vying
for attention. No. I took major steps to avoid any and all attention toward me,
even suffering the stigma of wearing the robe of doom, here.

Get lost. Ugh.

So here I was. Having turned around before entering Vahlta Hall, I ran southward,
then west, aiming for my old bedroom: the cliffs of Drehd. I didn’t actually feel
the need to scale downward and enter my old abode, no. In fact, the birds-eye view
on Half Moons Bay was quite sweeping and picturesque perched on the top edge of the
steep wall.

I didn’t come for the beauty, however.

The triple moons were out, the third just peeking onto the dark horizon line as I
hurriedly made my way through the shadowed brush, navigating through one of the
eighteen areas TreValla had reserved as natural parkland. The mixed species of
trees, their white and black trunks with canopies of iridescent and crimson
foliage, towered over me in the umbra and swayed with the cliffside breeze as I
neared the moonlit edge of the calming expanse overlooking the sea.

I was anything but calm.

Lying on my stomach, I searched the docks and warehouses below and found a few dark
shapes strategically stationed around the import loading area. It appeared that I
made it just in time. Muscles taut as I peered down, I worried about the outcome,
unable to help. I couldn’t see the front edifice of the building, but I imagined
there was more elite guard positioned out front. The only other movement I detected
was the lazy night workers on the wooden docks near the shipping vessels.

I watched and waited.

Minutes ticked by and I readjusted my robes so they wouldn’t pull so much as I

observed. An insect buzzed near my ear distractingly. Swatting it away, I
eventually detected voices from down below getting louder and more agitated. They
issued commands until there was a short pause, followed by a resounding crash
originating inside the building. The men that were actually visible to me held
their positions and waited at the back loading doors making a few hand signals to
each other. Whatever was happening was taking place in the warehouse.

Seconds later, the grimy skylights on the building and the back doorways flooded in
a clear, cold light that flashed through the entire interior of the warehouse
illuminating it like some frostbitten lantern. Squeezing my eyes shut on reflex, I
turned my head away. A cacophonous sound wave followed and blew out every single
warehouse window before it hit the cliff face, the trees above me being smacked
with the sonic clap just as instantly, ridding them of their nightly occupants with
a jolt. Just as quickly as it came, the light blinked out, but the echoes of the
boom remained, along with some minor ringing in my ears.

I’d heal.

The men moved in.

I heard more shouting, then silence. For quite a while I laid there, straining my
ears. Occasionally a few voices filtered up through the night’s breeze and ocean
sounds, but not much more. I was catching movement out front, but as soon as I saw
it, it’d quickly disappear into the warehouse.

More minutes ticked by.

About to give up on this angle and move into the city to catch a glimpse of the
front, I saw a few mobile vahlen crystals exiting from the back, casting their soft
luminous glow on the empty carts parked out there. Three guardsmen held the clear
stones aloft and made way for more men who were escorting some leaning forms out
into the loading bay. Some were even being carried. I counted thirteen of the
injured-looking shapes…and four stretchers with shadowed bodies on them.

Damn.

Though it looked like Durath’s elite guards had arrived on time, the grisly scene
of witnessing the stretchers being hauled out nauseated me and filled me with
dread. Jero had been right. Something was going on in the city and it probably went
all the way to the top. Knowing exactly how much mahdra capacity Master Durath was
packing, I had no doubt he’d be able to deduce that the captives all had some form
of mahdra endowments themselves.

There needed to be an investigation. And justice.

Closing in on an hour or so just watching the docks below, I gazed down solemnly.
The group of guards doubled in numbers, some walking around the area and talking to
the employees, others entering and leading huffing draven into the back lot and
hooking them up to the wooden carts which were filled with the newly freed
captives. Eyeing the shape of a specific robed male, I tracked his movements as he
stayed with the group of injured, working amongst them with a dark satchel.
Hopefully, they were receiving medical care.

At last, after having watched the wagons clear out slowly, I knew it was time to
get back and have an elaborate discussion with Keeper Rescoven. My fast food outing
had turned into something entirely different. Pushing up with my arms, however, I
quickly surmised that something was wrapped around my ankle.

“Oh crap, not again,” I said with a huff. Flipping onto my backside, I leaned over
to examine the vine. “No, no, no—you can’t keep doing this to me. We’ve talked
about it before. I had to move into the cliff because you were nearly suffocating
me every night in the trees.” I slid my fingers under the thick vegetation which
was coiled rather tightly around my leg, but not harming me.

It wouldn’t budge.

“Son of a draven—” I began to curse, then let out a squeak. “Haell, stop. Stop!”
The vine had started dragging me rather swiftly over sticks, leaves, even rocks.
Ow.

And yes, if I was an avatar to a large group of sentient female stars, it was only
logical to surmise that other sentient celestials existed, in all forms. That said,
my arrival on Haell was no secret to Him. Yes, a masculine sentient planet. Did we
have long-winded conversations in words? No. Never, actually. His planet-wide
consciousness would have no doubt found that tedious. But Haell, it seemed, did
like to manifest through the plant life and make Himself known to me from time to
time. I guess it was His way of acknowledging the Sisters, and their little sister,
me.

“Quit playing around,” I warned and then hiccuped as I bounced, rather forcefully,
over a dead branch and then down a small ravine. My sliding stopped with me looking
skyward through the tree canopy, my head resting in something foul smelling, and
squelchy, but mixed with bones.

The vine slithered away.

“Oh, gross.” I sat up dizzily, spitting some detritus from my lips, and felt the
sludge. Whatever it was, it’d been dead for a while, so not as ripe as it could
have been, but still pretty bad. At least it was on my hood and not in my hair.
That would have sucked.

“Thanks. A lot,” I said to the empty, forested area.

Slouching, exhausted, I wondered if there was a point to Him getting all up in my

business, the little journey over the hill and through the woods? I wouldn’t know.
I was just tiny Trick being tangled up in the intrigues of the titans, here.

I was accustomed to it.

Pulling up my knees and placing my arms on them, I sat there, smelling like death.
It seemed a fitting finale to the night’s building crescendo. Resting for a good
twenty minutes or so, I pondered on all the events of the night. Having moved a few
feet down to get away from the pungent pile, I soon realized there was no escape as
it was along for the ride on the back of my hood.

Whatever.

The trees swayed calmly and the stars above glittered as they appeared every so
often through the foliage. Was there a way for me to assist in the investigation, I
wondered? Maybe serve as an informant, keep my eyes open in the city while on my
runs? But that would mean working with the Black Line again, which wasn’t exactly
“getting lost”, now was it? But really, what did that matter when far more crucial
things, like people’s lives, were at stake? Besides, my help may not automatically
mean sacrificing the entirety of my anonymity.

It also may not even prove beneficial, for that matter, if we wanted to analyze
both sides.

Once again, I was facing choices.

Realizing I was playing with my Drongo feather in my pocket, I stroked my fingers

down the feather vanes and concentrated on the snap as the familiar avian design
rebounded pleasantly. It was relaxing, at least. The night enveloped me and lulled
me while I ruminated. As much as I felt peace here among the leaves and rotting
animal corpses, I needed to get back. Speaking to Rescoven would no doubt answer
some questions, or at least aid me in choosing a direction.

Weird that just a few months ago I had felt so alone. Also strange was that
presently, I knew without a doubt that Rescoven cared for me, legitimately, and not
just to enact some long laid plans of an old man following a near ancient religion.
Not that he worshipped me, as I had once feared. Nope. Far from it. And yes, he did
have plans that I wasn’t aware of. Of course he did. But, regardless of his secrets
at the moment, he served me with genuine care. It was unexpected and, well,
something that I’d never had before. I liked it.

I needed to return soon. I didn’t want him to do something precise and brutal, even
if he was limited to the foundations of the Hall. He’d figure something out, no
doubt.

Pushing up, I looked through the trunks of the trees ahead and eyed the ridge of
the park that overlooked the actual open ocean, the view of the Half Moon Bays
being behind me and to my left. Something struck me as off. It being quite a
distance away, I squinted. There. A silhouette of a person stood in the distance
nearly blending in with the surrounding trunks, backlit with the moonlight.

I crept closer as silently as possible, watching.

Was this person suicidal?

They were just standing there. Even as I got nearer, they stood still. Peering over
the edge, contemplating the fall? Even so, I continued on quietly as possible
taking care of where I placed my feet, pausing every so often with a hand on a
trunk to distribute my weight more evenly in an effort for stealth.

Eventually, I made it close to the illuminated ridge. Peering through a dense

tangle of bushes near the edge, I spied a male. I say male here because unless a
female was possibly over eight feet tall and jacked up on roids, which didn’t seem
likely, the person here was a dude. Wearing dark robes, he had his back turned and
would have easily towered over Court Master Durath. I held my breath for a moment
preparing to intervene. Perhaps Haell had pulled me closer to this moment for a
reason, which hadn’t been lost on me.

“You may as well speak,” the male said in heavily accented common, his voice deep
and promising violence.

Well, trick. I thought I had been stealthy. I licked my suddenly dry lips as I
prepared my words—

“You will just kill me anyway,” another voice immediately choked out in anger, then
coughed, ending on a gag.

What the hell?

Craning my neck, I caught a glimpse of a body’s quaking shoulder in front of the

large man’s robe, as if he were trying to crawl away after having been hit. This
wasn’t a person going to commit suicide, no. It was appearing more like an…
interrogation? Murder?

“Yes. But I’m giving you the choice of a slow death, or a quick one.”

“I won’t talk,” the kneeling individual said to the menacing male over his
shoulder, then spat toward the ocean.

Okay, murder was on the menu. Weird that I wasn’t freaking out about it. Maybe it
was the feeling I was getting? I couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but there was
something familiar with the struggling man’s voice, the one that was talking tough,
but shaking to the point congruent with an epileptic seizure. I recognized it
somehow. Recently, too.

Squinting my eyes, I tried to dredge up the memory.

The guy gagged again.

Gross. Was he sick? Perhaps he had been choked? Eh, probably should have been
concerned for his health and not dwelling on the contagion aspect, being that I was
immune, regardless.

Huh. Maybe I should be blaming the Sisters.

The feeling I got from them when they chose to manifest themselves was: We are all
connected, life and death are meaningless in the vast vacuum of space, and we are
all made from stardust anyway, and should an ant be snuffed out, no use crying when
their original elements will still endure, ready to be recycled in the timeless
tradition that is existing.

In fact, digressing here, I once had a dream, elusive as they normally were for me,
regarding this skewed galactic perspective. In this dream I had lost a beloved,
furry pet by horrific hellfire that only a nightmare could conjure, and sobbed
inconsolably for a time. Being distraught, eventually my Sisters acknowledged my
pain, emerging from their indifferent slumber by moving heavens and mountains just
to find every single piece of my pet’s singed existence for their little sis…going
as far as finding all of its long-deceased ancestor’s leftover elements, as well.
They compiled it all together in an act so powerful and unfathomable, and presented
it to me with a pat on the head, saying in Goddess-speak, “Hush, now. All is well.
Here is Spot.” But Spot was as charcoal sand in a horrifyingly hefty sandbox, and I
didn’t really want to play in its carbon and dead skin cells. But then my older
Sisters became confused with my lack of joy. So at this delusional point I felt bad
that they went through so much trouble trying to console me that I jumped in and
tossed some sand and yelled, “Fetch, Spot,” with a stressed, maniacal smile.

And then we all had a laugh.

So, in other words, they—we were completely out of touch if my dreams were any
indication. Actually, that explained a lot about me.

So why was this guy registering as an expendable ant?

“You express morals now, but your silence is a mere pretense of loyalty. My kinsman
has singled you out as one of the Falk keeping him and others locked up in a crate
for days on the lower east side. Had he not been able to escape, he would have died
under your care, slave trader. Tell me, to whom are you loyal? Who is financing
this?”

Oh. That’s why. Ant was an asshole. And now it all made sense. He was the Falk from
the warehouse earlier! The dredger who had been watching Braghen and me from the
second floor office with the rotten teeth.

Continuing to watch, this time I desperately needed the same answers that the big
guy sought. Haell, seemingly having dragged me here to witness this, was urging me
to make up my mind regarding the level of participation I was going to invest in
the abductions. And if rotten teeth here had any information, there was no doubt I
would pass it along to the Black Line. It seemed as though there was no decision to
make at all. My mind was already made up.

With a gust of wind hitting the cliffside, I drew my eyes back up to the robed
male. His hood nearly flew back but stopped short of revealing any facial features
at this angle. He was still an unknown, however, though it sounded as though there
had been more than one crate, one from weeks ago, which he had been investigating.
Not only that, but Jero had mentioned other bodies from about the same time.

How long had this been going on? Were all the shipping and import yards in the bays
being used by some smuggling ring for trafficking mahdra users? If it wasn’t just
the Dredges…

“You think you know everything—I’m no slave trader,” the ant said. A bit
arrogantly, too, I thought, given his position and how he was coming across as a
gagging, trembling germ. I could hear the sneer in his dredger tone, the one that
he used on me earlier today. “We don’t need the pathetic ones to work as slaves.
They’re useful other ways.” And then he threw up.

I was revolted. The stranger wasn’t.

“Very well,” the large man responded deeply, but tonelessly as if he already had
anticipated the unwillingness of the captive and the inevitability of violence. Or
maybe he just really wanted to kill him and was conceding to his more base desires…
or practical ones? Possibly anticipating sanitizing his hands soon after? I didn’t
know. “I will find your master and your purpose for doing this, regardless. I will
purge all of those involved.”

I saw a flash of black steel in the moonlight, a blade about to slice the man’s
neck open.

“No!” I yelled, crashing from out of the thicket. “He still has information!” I ran
to the right while the robed man turned to me. I took in the scene. The kneeling
captive wasn’t being choked. Wasn’t even being touched, nor had been this whole
time when I had watched through the trees. Odd. He did have a five foot long sword
threatening him, though, so there was that to explain his terror. “Tell him you
piece of draven shivit—I’ve seen the others in the warehouse. Who placed those
spells? Who are you working for? What’s the goal for taking people with mahdra?”

Ant appeared shocked, taking a moment to place me.

“The reject?” he coughed out, spittle dangling from his mouth. “What the vrekk do
you know? You filthy pile of—” His words were cut off as he was hit on the side of
the head with the blunt edge of a massive blade. He expelled a painful yell and
rolled over, the cliff precipice just bare inches away. The large male turned his
eyes to me.

Oh vrekk me. I looked up.

With zero runes on his dark hood, clearly he wasn’t one of the rejected. Nope. He
was K’Vroken. Which explained the heavy accent while speaking Common. A K’Vroken of
the warrior caste by the looks of him. The large, thick wrapping horns above each
temple indicating so, also providing a good six inches of height to his already,
eight plus feet? He looked at me, really analyzed. Even tilted his head slightly to
the side giving me a splash of moonlight on his dark, sculpted cheekbones.

There was folklore, whispers that K’Vroken were the cursed 'shadowed ones' on
Haell. I couldn’t help but realize how accurate the rumor was. His skin was dark
graphite, near black. I say near black because his massive upper canine teeth,
jutting down and permanently exposed from his lips—this being referenced in the
drawings I’d gone over, but somehow now seeming a tad lacking in comparison to the
size of the K’Vroken in front of me—were prominently seen against his skin. Like
obsidian blades, the K’Vroken here had pitch-black wicked sharp teeth that were
known to rip out the throats of their enemies.

Whatever he saw in me, half of his mouth tilted up. I saw a flash of a gold tooth
on one of his incisors. “Greetings, Kalla.”

I just stared, slack jawed. His brows rose for me, waiting.

“Uh, the Black Line just moved in on a few different crates tonight—a little more
than an hour ago. You had to have heard the blast coming from the Dredges.” I
gestured towards the opposite cliffside. “They must have dismantled the spell
because thirteen captives were rescued.” I figured it was Master Durath being the
hero. He’d have the power to do it, for sure. I waited, willing to discuss more,
anticipating more questions, him asking me if there were K’Vroken involved.

There was nothing except the wind, and then a dry heave to the side of me.

Ant.

I turned. “Are you ill? Because what the hell?” I asked, a bit flustered since no
one was talking but myself.

Trembling on all fours, but looking up at me with a confused, contemptuous

expression on his rotten face, Ant belched. “Just reacting to the Balyach, and now
you,” he spat.

Again.

I moved a bit closer to the K’Vroken, because, ew. Then I did the translation: the
shadow demon. I’d read about the name in the book that that arrogant highborn Ptero
had discarded in front of Keeper Rescoven. It was a superstition among many of the
races of Haell. The balyach that hunts during the night, drops mahdra users by
draining them dry of life until there’s nothing left but shriveled husks of once-
breathing bodies.

Not that I believed in the shadow demon. It was a construct made for teaching kids
caution, and a bit of a slanderous myth in terms of viewing the cursed K’Vroken and
their savage, twisted abilities.

Taking a chance, I glanced at the K’Vroken and then back down toward the biohazard.
“Look halitosis, I tipped the Black Line off about the crate. I have enough mahdra
to have witnessed the spell work and I can tell that you obviously lack the power
required to make such a spell. I also know someone proficient in a truth
incantation, one that happens to give you debilitating diarrhea, so if you want to
avoid any more,” I waved my hand at his state, “unpleasantness, then start speaking
up.” Figure I’d leverage my one-time acquaintance with Durath in this case. He
might have told me to get lost, yes, but also pretty sure that he’d interrogate Ant
here happily.

“Listen to her,” the K’Vroken said behind me.

Nice to have huge backup, but also kind of figured he’d be doing the leading and me
the following. You know, good cop, bad cop? I once saw a cheesy video on that back
in the imprisoned and being harvested days. The acting sucked.

Also, how could he tell I was female? Males here on Haell reacted strongly to
female pheromones, from what I read. To put it simply, it was how mating was
initiated. It was why females were separated from the males. Except for me. For all
my time here, none had identified me. I attributed it to me being alien, and then
my robe obscuring my scent. Resco, well he was just too perceptive.

But the K’Vroken, he knew.

I quickly scanned my robe for energy and felt that the hood was still active and
the runes working. Needlessly, I peered downward a fraction of a second to make
sure my boobs hadn’t suddenly wandered. Nope. Not that they were ever really seen
under the blanket that I wore. Neither did I sense any mahdra capabilities coming
from the giant, however rare that would be for a K’Vroken. So how could he have
guessed?

Shaking my head a fraction to get back on topic, I could see real terror this time
in Ant’s eyes as he looked back and forth between us, eventually settling on the
K’Vroken. It seemed as though he was contemplating it, about speaking up. I highly
doubted it was the looming threat of having explosive diarrhea making him
reconsider.

Hacking out a phlegm wad, gagging once more, he then paused and said, “The only
contact I’m allowed—”

He stopped suddenly. Trembling, he stood up, desperately wide-eyed at this point,

his movements jerky and unnatural. With terrified eyes on us, he then turned and
yeeted himself right off the cliff with a few echoing, high-pitched, and hysterical
yips sounding out, soon diminishing.

Then nothing.

I stood there for a second.

Huh.
Walking over to the edge, I peered down, my sleeves flopping as I rested my hands
on my hips. The huge K’Vroken followed me. “Well, that was…” my words trailed off.

“Stupid.” The K’Vroken finished my sentence in Common.

Chapter nine

Ilaughed out, then slapped a hand over my mouth. Ant had fallen face down on the
jagged rocks as Haell’s version of crabs scuttled away from his darkened form. They
would probably return to feast on him soon enough. I hadn’t been referring to Ant’s
squealing, mostly the fracked situation, but the K’Vroken had a point. Lowering my
hand, I said, “I know, right? Those screams were really…high pitched.” Not to knock
someone’s death throes, but he sounded like a pig from a video I saw once.

Sighing, I looked down once more in puzzlement and then eyed the male next to me.
He was huge. I knew better than to ask his name. K’Vroken culture didn’t do that
unless they deemed you worthy of knowing it, and then they’d give their name to
you, not because you inquired. They also didn’t take well to questions being asked
of them, either. As much as I wanted to know how he’d captured the slave trader…and
how the K’Vroken flanked the Rashgol Sahven Lines in the battle of KoVarK in 342,
if it was true that K’Vroken youth entered their first death match at age twelve,
that a version of knitting was seen as a good cool down for males who suffered from
going berserk, I also appreciated my head on top of my neck.

I didn’t need to test my crazy regeneration and healing on that.

Besides, I had Jero and Braghen to work with in my investigation, along with Keeper
Rescoven. Ha. My investigation. That was pushing it a bit. But for sure I was going
to try and serve as a very useful tool to help resolve the abductions. New goals
and all. Felt nice.

The K’Vroken took a step closer to me, analyzing my shroud, the dead body already
being completely ignored. It appeared that he had never come across a, well, a
reject? A female out and about? I didn’t know. His dark obsidian eyes matched his
teeth and horns, though I could only see so much of what was under his hood.
Probably shouldn’t have been staring.

He started it.

Leaning in closer, slowly, as if testing the waters, his eyes not leaving me once,
he breathed in. His nostrils flared as his mouth opened slightly.

“Uh, everything okay?” I asked. I wasn’t used to the proximity, one. Two, he could
waste me.

He spoke then in K’Vroken, perhaps not realizing it. “You reek of death. The death
of a makuula,” he said softly, in what sounded like awe.

Oh. Yeah. That.

I responded instantly, inner warning bells forgotten. “I fell in something pretty

nasty earlier—wait, hold up—you can smell the decomposition on me and deduce what
particular species it is?” That—that was weird.
Head jolting back, he said in surprise, “You speak K’Vrok?” He looked at me in
disbelief.

I was aware of it being an uncommon and rather difficult language for most people
to learn. “Yes, and you sniff out dead things,” I pointed out, and then put my
hands up. “Sorry. You do you. I need to get back home, anyway,” I said, but not
unkindly. Beginning to walk away from the cliff and into the woods, hyper aware of
the danger behind me, I retreated from the warrior K’Vroken. My goal: pretend I
never saw him. For anyone normal, that was a best case scenario. Leaving alive.

But in all fracked up honesty, I was hoping he would follow. Perhaps I could ask
him more questions? Nah, scratch that. As I mentioned before, you left them alone.
Period. Asking him questions could be seen as intrusive and threatening. Though I
couldn’t help but notice that he seemed amiable enough…a bit weird, too. Who was I
to judge, though? Besides, we had both witnessed the ant jump to his death just a
couple of minutes ago and neither one of us seemed to care.

Whatever. Ant was an asshole as I said. Wasn’t going to feel sorry for not feeling
sorry.

Turned out, I may have been just as interesting to him as he was to me.

“May I escort you?” he asked in his native K’Vrok, as he called it.

“Uh, I don’t need an escort—I’m not a child, it that’s what you think. But, thank
you,” I said, carefully. I wasn’t being petulant. He may have been worried for me
due to my size. I tried to keep in mind other peoples’ perspectives upon seeing me.
“I can get along by myself just fine,” I said, then hesitated. Crap. Before I could
take back the words, I blurted, “But I’d be okay if you walked with me for a way.
If you want to tell me how you tracked down, whatever that guy’s name was,” I
tentatively fished, heart thudding in my chest. I frantically wondered if his
K’Vroken ears could hear it.

He supplied me with a name.

I blinked and stopped walking. He actually answered me. I turned to look at him.
“What?” I laughed out in incredulity, my anxiety easing somewhat. He repeated it.
The spelling was obviously Haellish and the pronunciation was more 'ah' like, but
it was close enough. “Splat? His name was Splat?”

“Yes.”

I chuckled. “Oh this night, I swear,” I muttered, resuming my trek in the darkness.
Despite knowing the basic facts about the feared K’Vroken race and why I shouldn’t
be so relaxed at the moment, I was beginning to feel just that: a bit of calm
blanketing a situation that should have been awful and off-putting. Curious.

He looked at me askance, his keen, dark eyes grasping the fact that even though he
wasn’t aware of the joke, he knew something was at play. So with a shrug, inwardly
realizing the little walkabout we were having was beyond just an abnormal
occurrence, I explained my comment to him. I translated the dumb name in my native
language, then supplied him with a whistling dropping sound and the eventual splat
it’d make. I didn’t get an outburst from him, but instead, got a terrifyingly black
sharpened smile from his lips, his gold tooth glinting right next to a massive,
deadly canine. I took it as a win.

As we walked, he, unprompted, filled me in on how he’d been trying to track Splat
down knowing he was dirty, how he had eventually spotted him leaving the warehouse
during the evening and tailed him to the park, ultimately climbing the multiple
tiers of cliffs to reach the highest sector of the Sahven by taking the long,
secluded way up.

“Did he go to any house in particular?” I asked, hopeful in more ways than one.
First, perhaps we could deduce which evil Sahven was financing the whole operation.
Second, hoping I wasn’t pushing it with the K’Vroken and risking his ire. I was
beginning to see him as a person, not the Balyach capable of conjuring nightmarish,
sweeping death.

“No,” he said. “I stayed back undetected while it seemed as if he was waiting on

someone. That someone never showed.”

Damn. “Which house was he closest to? If you don’t mind me asking,” I asked, adding
the last words in a rush.

“He was center tier, Leatha Park.” He considered. “He seemed more and more agitated
as the keviks ticked by, as no one made an appearance.” He kept up with me
effortlessly, and for every couple of steps I took, he only needed one. And his
were undeniably silent.

Haell’s vines were leaving me unmolested, it seemed, to which I was grateful. My

focus only went so far, and at the moment, the K’Vroken was a huge presence beside
me. As he continued to stare my way, every so often the moonlight filtering through
the canopy from above would reveal his intelligent eyes on me, calculating, but not
necessarily a threatening gaze. Probably unwise that I was already beginning to
dismiss the danger he represented. Right now, I was more interested in his intel on
Splat and the slave trader’s jaunt uptown.

From what I’d read, Leatha Park was accessible to every Sahven top-tier home to
some extent. Even if Splat was near one home in particular, it didn’t necessarily
mean his clandestine meeting was with that occupant. Assuming so would have been
dumb. In fact, his ‘master’ didn’t necessarily have to be a member of the Sahven,
either. But given the amount of juice they had to have had to construct the runes
on the crates, it was logical to surmise here as well, since no other evidence was
made available.

Yet.

We reached the middle, lower level city homes and businesses near the ridge. The
night was warm and inviting with voices drifting over from the more frequented
places in the city. I paused and peered over, then up. Heck, the warrior K’Vroken
was huge. The few hanging vahlen crystals that were nearby revealed even more of
his…commanding face? Striking?

His face wasn’t exactly symmetrical like the insisting standards of beauty I grew
up with as a clone. DNA selection on Earth had completely taken over there and
designer babies being born was a norm. At least for those that had money. If they
had more money, they’d put in an order for a designer clone. And if they didn’t
like their own eye color on their clone, they’d try to burn out the melanin there
with a crude ‘controlled’ infection, just for kicks.

I didn’t like Earth’s definition of beauty. It was fickle, brutal, and in the end,
meaningless. But I was aware I was jaded on that subject.

He must have guessed my hesitation because he said, “I will not cause you any harm—
to you or your family. I just wish to see you safely home.”

I snorted and then responded before I could think better about it. It was becoming
a theme. “Really? I’m relatively safe. You, however, are a paperless K’Vroken on
Sahven lands.” I held up my hands. “Not that I care, but I mean, did you declare
your arrival as a ruling party of your clans according to the Treaty of Roven?” I
looked around exaggeratedly. “I see no Sahven guard protecting a diplomat, dogging
your every move.” I raised my eyebrows in challenge, though cared not a whit if he
was undocumented. So was I.

He seemed to like the sass.

Smirking, edging closer, he replied, “Applying for traveling papers would mean I
agree with the Sahven owning the continent. I don’t agree. They go around
pretending with councils, and papers, and rules regarding stone that is as old as
time, stone that has existed longer than their perceived dominance. No one can own
land. You simply control it, until you don’t.”

I let out a laugh. “As much as I recognize your argument and agree with some of it,
it’s probably still a bit reckless to be running around in a city that considers
you their sworn enemy. Besides, we have someone here targeting all races it would
seem since you said a K’Vroken was captured recently. It would probably be wise to
lay low.”

“One K’Vroken. And he was a fisherman,” he clarified.

“Yes, that you know of. There were other crates full of people tonight. And I
didn’t actually see their faces,” I said, feeling a bit sick to my stomach just
thinking of it. Of course, I was aware there were no K’Vroken in that crate
tonight. He wasn’t.

“I know everything on my soil. One K’Vroken fisherman was captured just off the
Kreshok coast, and now recovered.”

A few moments passed.

“Do you care that citizens of other races were taken?” I asked, needing to know for
some reason, my hesitance gone. Mind you, I knew some of the characteristics of the
K’Vroken and what was written about them. The few books I was able to find
indicated a deep loyalty to each other, with closed off wariness towards others.
Not fear, though. They feared very little. They were protectionists of a sort. That
wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, just needed some clarification to ease my mind.

He must have recognized that his answer was important to me. He took a moment
searching for my eyes, and then spoke in clear K’Vroken, “My motives are my own, my
goals haven’t changed. Whoever is responsible will be terminated and the others
freed if I can manage it, regardless of their race,” he answered firmly.

Well, he looked like a terminator. Seemed like our goals were aligned, too, even if
our reasoning for action may have differed slightly. I shifted a bit and folded my
arms. “You act as though you know a lot that goes on within K’Vroken borders. How
could you possibly know that one person was taken without the use of mahdra at your
disposal?” Another thing about K’Vroken, they could not manipulate mahdra. Not one
bit. “Seems a pretty arrogant statement when for all that you know there could be a
Sahven out there taking more of your people without you knowing. Which is sick, but
a possibility.”

The street we were on was fairly secluded, even more so where we stood at a
blocked-off portion of a dead end. A cobbler’s shop nearest to us was closed up,
but I could hear voices coming from the upstairs apartment. Laughter. There was
even a whiff of pastry on the breeze. Still, I cast my eyes around just to make
sure we remained alone. We were. He, on the other hand, either felt secure in the
fact that it was only us at the moment, or confident that should something be
overheard that wasn’t meant to be, he’d fix that problem. Permanently.

His focus remained entirely on me. “Impossible. I’d know of it.”

“Why? And how, for that matter?” I had ceased fearing for my head. He seemed pretty
reasonable and would no doubt warn me if my continuous questions were crossing some
line before he decapitated me.

“Because it’s mine. I know my land.”

“I thought you said no one can own land,” I scoffed, but with a smirk.

He shrugged his massive shoulders and then replied with a fierce smile saying, “The
K’Vroken do.”

I rolled my eyes. Typical arrogance. “All right, I’m out. I’ve got to head back,” I
said, shaking my head as I turned and factored my approach to the nearest balcony
to begin flying over the city. In my mind I was already laying out plans to
continue the investigation, who I’d talk to next. Sure, I was fascinated by the
K’Vroken, but I couldn’t be selfish. I had to get home.

Feeling a huge hand on my arm, I turned shocked, and looked up. Did he even realize
he touched a reject? Did he know what the runes on my robe were supposed to hide?
Or was he indeed aware of it and could not care less?

“My name is Dar Krule’Va,” he said, meaningfully, placing his fist over his chest
and dipping his head.

My jaw dropped.

His hand hadn’t moved from my arm. I cast a glance down at it. Dang. It was strong
and well proportioned for carrying broadswords, maces, and the like. Five fingers
versus the four like most of the other races had, besides the Sahven, which had
five fingers, as well. But he had claws. Retractable ones. At this point, I could
possibly be worried about my head being smote off since he had put his hand on me…
but, he had given me his name. And the claws were in.

“Why?” I asked, peering up.

He stepped closer. “You are not scared of me,” he said in a curious tone hinting at
something akin to veneration. Pausing, he looked at my robe, the visible runes, and
moved his thumb. “I know what it is like to be treated with fear and disgust.” Then
he cast a wicked, playful smile downward. “Also, you smell of my lifelong enemy.”

“Uh, the…Sahven?” I asked, surreptitiously trying to get a whiff of myself to

figure out what the heck he was talking about. Pretty sure I smelled putrid.

“No, sweeter. You smell of makuula carcass.”

“Riiight,” I responded, nodding slowly. The decomp thing again.

The widespread makuula were much beloved animals here, very similar to a monkey on
Earth, but with a few differences. Their eyes were quadruple the size of a
monkey’s. Their arms, legs, and stomachs were round like a stuffed teddy bear,
tails fluffy and long. Their coloring, naturally an off-white, was typically
stained violet from the coastal rains. In fact, even I agreed that they were
undeniably adorable. They were purple, mischievous puff balls.
And apparently, that was what I had mashed on the back of my head.

He took in a deep breath, taking in the stench wafting from my hood. “K’Vroken lore
says that if you disrupt a natural death in the wild, you disturb the creature’s
eternal rest. They will forever wander Haell as a cursed mist in search of
sustenance, never finding it. Perpetually foraging for naught.”

Still nodding as if following along. “And you like this—why?”

“Because vibrant one, they throw their shit at me. Constantly.”

No words.

“I loathe them to my very core. Unless I track and kill them to ingest their meat
and preserve their coat, hunting for sport is forbidden. And I would rather
starve,” he growled out. Removing his hand, he straightened his posture. “So, I do
as you did tonight. If I find their rotting corpses, I piss on their dead and send
their souls to endlessly hunger and wander for eternity.”

Silence. I was blinking.

A few moments passed as the laughter bubbled up. Shaking my head, “Wow. You deserve
your namesake, Krule.” He just nodded as if accepting, though not understanding the
English translation of his now nickname. Probably should have thought twice about
that.

“I like it,” he said. “I am Krule. And you are vibrant like a Kalla bird.”

Yeah, didn’t know how to respond to that one. Needed more K’Vroken books. My
laughter died down, though my smile remained. “Probably should point out that I
disturbed the dead makuula by landing in it—not pissing.” He just shrugged, as if
it were the same thing. I hesitated for a moment. “I’m Trick,” I said, placing my
fist to my chest as he had done earlier in the K’Vroken way.

He nodded his horned head and touched his fist to his chest, mirroring me. Dipping
his chin to himself, then to me, he said, “Krule…Trick.”

“Yeah, sounds like a band name.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

I laughed. “Nothing, it’s cool though. So, you said you wanted to follow me home?
Sorry—escort me home?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Yes, for your protection,” he answered, the serious expression on his face
lightening at the prospect of doing so.

So weird that he’d want to. So weird that part of me didn’t mind. I was realizing
my self-preservation was a bit screwy.

Like all of me.

“You think you can keep up?” I grinned up at him a bit evilly, not that he could
tell. His face slowly lit up as realization dawned. It looked as though he thought
he was going to have a bit of lighthearted fun with a healthy game of chase. Thing
was, I didn’t know if I wanted him to know where I lived. And as the night dragged
on, I was figuring out that my indecisiveness may be better served with a crazy
dose of let the chips fall where they may mentality.
The Sisters would no doubt approve.

Laughing a bit manically, I sprinted off and leaped up toward the nearest balcony,
my long sleeves serving as mahdra gloves, as usual. I may have been small next to
him, and all the rest of Haell’s inhabitants, but I was fast. Unnaturally so. Jero
and Braghen really had nothing on me earlier tonight. And right now, I was going to
do my best to school him and lose his tail. If Krule managed to keep me in his
sights, then so be it.

I think—I think this was me flirting.

Chapter ten

Iskidded to a stop and knocked on the requisite door a bit more forcefully than I
probably needed. It opened. Sliding in, my hood concealed a smile as I shook off
the extra energy I had coursing through my body. Krule was fast, regrettably so, I
was realizing. Mind you, it was also completely invigorating and fantastic to push
myself that far, to have someone going just as hard and crazy on my heels. But I
also wanted to win. It would seem that I had a competitive side. And it had nothing
to do with not wanting to reveal where I lived, surprisingly.

In fact, as the homes became a blur beside us and my body responded in an unnatural
speed, I had grown increasingly pissed that I wasn’t as special as I had thought.
Oh sure, I would have annihilated Jero and Braghen, earlier. But Krule was
something different altogether. He had also been quietly laughing behind me. That
proved vexing. So, being that I was a tad perturbed, and my sleeves, for the first
time ever, were actually getting in my way, I maneuvered us toward a particular
roofline. One that had needed maintenance for quite some time.

Lightweight me hit the roof running. Krule caved it in.

I had shot off with a smile as the sounds of full, uninhibited, deep laughter
erupted along with the incensed braying and stomping of an impromptu rodeo. Maybe
the first on Haell. Krule had landed in a draven paddock.

So worth it.

“You are smiling. Tell me, what new players have been introduced to the board
tonight?” Keeper Rescoven asked me as he crouched down in the corner of the empty
requisite room, examining the wall with a quill and parchment.

As I noticed this, I immediately looked around and realized the hood was off of the
shuttle, so to speak. The empty requisite room’s normally smooth marble floor, calm
wood paneling, and soft sconce lighting were stripped bare and all the code—or
runes—creating its design were exposed, or superimposed, over black and gold-veined
stone.

Everywhere.

“This is incredible.” I walked over to the wall and ran the pads of my fingers down
the vertical rune lines humming with power. From my peripheral, some of the columns
seemed to vibrate, and all appeared to glow a soft, absinthe green. Not only that,
its normal ceiling height, something I now realized was a facade, was now exposed
to reveal three stories of uninterrupted mahdra runes. Another rabbit hole here at
Vahlta Hall. “So, how much does a requisite room cost, cause’ this, this looks
incredibly expensive.” Tonight had opened my eyes to the realization that mahdra on
this level, on most levels in fact, wasn’t common in the regular citizen’s home.

“I wouldn’t know as I authored it myself. If I had to guess to placate your

curiosity, however, more than money can buy.” He nodded to himself as if pleased
with what he was seeing, made a notation on the parchment, and stood eyeing me for
the first time since I came in. “Most likely if a room was to be commissioned, the
transaction would involve open-ended favors to be owed, and various unbreakable
pledges,” he said, rolling the parchment and tucking the scroll under an arm. He
adjusted his spectacles and looked me over. “It seems as though you’ve had an…
interesting night.”

“Ha—I knew it! Your glasses have mahdra in them, don’t they? They see way more than
what is normal. In fact, can you even see without them? I mean, in the traditional
sense?” That, or he could have his whole body spelled for all that I knew and for
how skilled he was at masking his mahdra signature. I wonder if he could see mahdra
residue on me? Or the remnants of the people’s auras that I had come across?

Rescoven’s mouth softened from his usual hard, intense line. I had started to
recognize this as his smile. “You smell of death.”

I huffed out. That. I thought he’d been referring to the people I had met. “Yeah,
makuula body, rotten one. Dropped down into it when Haell literally started pulling
my leg through the cliffside reserve.”

Rescoven knew about Haell’s little proclivities towards me. In fact, earlier, when
we were still initially getting to know each other, he had asked me if the planet
had recognized me, to which I answered truthfully. He didn’t seem surprised. To be
exact, he acted as if it was only natural to have nature rub up on you, curling and
cocooning you in its fronds, and then yanking your hair just to be annoying. He had
even gotten me a mixture of potted plants in my room to allow Haell a way of
communicating with me.

At first, I balked at the seemingly innocuous plants, eyeing them with a side-eyed
suspicion that only an experienced victim of mischievousness could attest to. They
had been the very reason why I had moved my first home nesting in the trees, to
inside the cliff face of solid stone. But, as it was, my fears were unwarranted.
Turned out that potted plants were polite and rubbed you only if you allowed it.

They were cute, too.

He raised a brow. “You may as well sit and tell me about it. I’m sure this will
change things.” He gestured toward the doorway leading to his personal library.

“Most likely. You don’t seem displeased, though,” I said, with some hesitation. He
could have been frustrated, I guess, given the fact that he was still pretty hard
to read emotionally. But for some reason, my “interesting night” as he had called
it, was just another thing he had been anticipating?

“Child, I have prepared for near all contingencies in preparation for serving the
Gods of old. World domination one of those. Should you change your mind on that,
let me know and we will begin.”

Rolling my eyes, I entered the room ahead of him, just then feeling Rescoven’s
mahdra envelope my hood, sweeping and tingling down my back. Turning around, I
raised my eyebrows. Oops. Forgot he couldn’t see me. I pulled down the hood
revealing myself as I typically did while in the back of Vahlta Hall’s personal
quarters.

“Just sanitizing the mess. You’ll still want to bathe as I cannot completely
eradicate the rotten intestinal smell, and launder the robes,” he answered my
inquiring look while taking his normal chair.

“Oh. Thanks. Speaking of smell, can you discern any female pheromone scent through
the obscuration spell? I thought the robe hid it. I also thought me being a weird
human wouldn’t register for a Haell male’s discerning nose looking for a compatible
match. I mean, I’ve been on my own and nearly invisible for so long I thought that
this was a nonissue.” I sat down.

Parchment scroll now on his lap, he took off his glasses and cleaned them with a
nonchalant spell, then placed them on the end of his nose. “Would you like the
brief answer? Or the complete explanation along with the recommended reading
material that you have been avoiding for two rotations?”

I held up a finger. “I haven’t been avoiding those books. I just thought they were
irrelevant.”

“And now?”

I exhaled and dropped my hand. “The brief answer is fine.” He pegged me well.

“Of course,” he said. His mouth lifted at the corner when he saw my narrowed eyes.
“Your pheromones are different than what males are used to, yes, but they are not
so different that they wouldn’t eventually recognize them. That said, without the
obscuration runes on the robe, you’d be instantly categorized.”

“Great. So don’t take off the robe then?”

“Yes, and no. Your human scent is secular but rich, and while the runes on your
robe are well done, they are not infallible when it comes to pheromones. As one
moves, lingering scent, though minimal, remains left behind. And as for scenting
abilities, certain races here on Haell have varying degrees of olfactory acuity. So
what may be sharply noticeable for some, will only raise a mild impression for
others. However, if you were to become aroused—”

“Whoa—I’m good now. Thank you, that answer is, uh, sufficient,” I said, holding
both hands up. So not going to have that conversation with Resco. I’d read the
books. Eventually.

His mouth ticked in veiled humor. “Very well.” Placing the scroll and quill on the
side table, he asked, “Speaking of your robe, have you considered having your
sleeves taken up? I can redo the spell at the hem if you’d like, but it wouldn’t
work entirely the same, as I am a different caster than the one who created the
embroidered design. That said, taking them in at the shoulder wouldn’t harm the
runes at the bottom, and why create more work?”

“What, you don’t like the wacky-inflatable-tube-man look?” I wiggled the sleeves
irritatingly out in front of me. My lack of zeal made it a weak impression.

“Not especially, no, even if I do not understand the reference. Is that a clone
dance while you lived on Haven?”

I let out a laugh and dropped my arms in a sigh. “No. Most of what comes out of my
mouth originates from the content that I—all of us clones shared amongst each other
and gorged ourselves on. We were dreadfully bored and the tablets offered us an out
to live vicariously through unfiltered entertainment from well over a century
prior. Kind of the reason why I am the way I am.”

“I see no problem with the way you are, except perhaps your skittishness when I
first tried to establish contact with you,” he said, brushing a microscopic piece
of lint off his pant leg, the same dark green suit he wore under a scholarly-like
green open robe that trailed to the floor. “Though I applaud your suspicion, as
well.”

“Okay, well, you’ve got a problem with my robe then,” I pointed out with a smirk,
inwardly thankful that he didn’t mind my personality. Good thing, too, being that I
didn’t know how to be any different, or want to be any different, for that matter.

“Not at all. I have no issue with you wearing a spelled garment. I am just confused
why you insist on keeping that one. However, since you have declared your need for
this particular shroud, I am merely offering a solution for your problem with the
robe. If you don’t recall, I am adamant that you cover up if you venture out of
Vahlta Hall. Dealing with that complication is something I am decidedly not
prepared for,” he said. “Though give me another week or so and it will be fine.”

I smirked. “You work fast.”

“Yes.”

“Relax. I didn’t drop the hood tonight.” I sighed. “I guess the sleeves can be
taken up, too,” I said, relenting to losing a bit of the homeless look of
anonymity. Having nearly lost a race to Krule had me wanting my hands out and free
on the off chance I had to go warp speed over the city rooflines again.

“Excellent. Just leave them outside your room’s interior door, please, and I’ll
have my runner deliver them to a seamstress. And speaking of your room, I have
added some details you may like, including a staircase leading to the roof, along
with a few other necessary embellishments.”

As if this was no big deal.

“I told you, my room is amazing. No changes needed.” The fact that I had happily
anticipated sleeping on the floor near the bug books made the whole bestowing of an
entire floor of private quarters, solely intended for my use, a tad overwhelming.

“Nonsense, the room was, and remains a shell. One that I had left intentionally
blank so my future charge would be able to customize to his or her specifications.”

“But you didn’t count on me,” I said, sliding further into a dignified slouch.

He gave me a look. “No. I didn’t count on a Child of the Celestials to have little
to no thought for themselves or their surroundings. But no matter, I will make it
appropriate for you. And if you may, will you please tell me what is the matter
with the bed?”

“What? Nothing is wrong with it.”

“Yes, I thought it was a fine bed, too. But you do not sleep in it. You’ve been
sleeping on the floor,” he said, frustration and puzzlement hinted at in his tone.

Blowing out some air from my cheeks, I took a moment. “I’m not used to having
something so soft to lay on—but I like it so don’t get rid of it.” Besides, I loved
looking at it. It was huge and all mine. Even the color of the voluptuous bedding
was a close match to my prized, cobalt-hued drongo feather. I shifted a bit in the
chair. “I am planning on sleeping in it…but baby steps, here. Rest has never really
come easily for me in the first place. I feel tense most of the time for keeping
the energy in me from manifesting incorrectly, if that’s what we’re calling it.” I
also called it: exploding and going supernova. I had an issue with that on the last
planet before Haell...and the first. Still didn’t want to talk about it.

He thought on that for a moment. “Very well, I understand. Did tonight help drain
some of your excess energy?”

“Yes,” I said immediately. “To be truthful, the hall here helps, too, as you said
it would. It siphons off most of the unconscious mahdra that may spill while
sleeping, I believe. At this point, as long as I do my diligence in keeping it
manageable, my only problem is working around the PTSD I have with losing control.
It’s a me problem.”

“I’m not aware of that term, but I can gather your meaning. I will continue to be
of service for whatever you require of me. If you want anything further for your
room, or have any ideas that need improving, please do not hesitate to ask.”

I smiled a soft, but appreciative grin his way. “Thank you, Jeeves. And thank you
for the bedding, the color is perfect. It matches my quill.” I pulled the feather
out.

Straightening a bit, he nodded, obviously not used to the warm fuzzies. He scowled
at the quill. That was okay.

“Now, about tonight,” he said, getting to the main reason we were seated and I
wasn’t washing off the remnants of dead animal at the moment.

“Yes—that.”

So I told him. About Jero, Braghen, the warehouse, and the raid. Even mentioned
Master Durath’s comment to me after our ‘incident’, in which Rescoven seemed
contemplative and hawklike after having questioned me further on it. Turned out, he
was very interested in how I described being able to feel the court master’s energy
and mahdra levels instantaneously. Very intrigued at how I suddenly knew I could
stretch Durath’s reservoir for holding mahdra.

There was much back and forth on that.

“This is not the first time this has happened,” he commented finally, his eyes
eerily focused.

“No. Pretty sure it is.” There was no mistaking it. It didn’t happen with Krule,
but I assumed that was because he was K’Vroken. They were known to have zero mahdra
abilities. Plus, he had only gently touched my sleeve.

“Trick, when you first discovered Vahlta Hall, did you feel mahdra?”

I thought about it for a moment. “Yes. Initially, I didn’t know what it was.
Eventually I learned the basics by reading about it, putting two and two together.”

“And whose mahdra do you think it was?”

“I realized it derived from you.”

He steepled his long, gnarled fingers. “Trick, the first time you wandered into the
hall it felt as if you were somehow fueling the sacred stone itself. As you touched
the books, I felt the same response. It took me a long time to test and believe my
suppositions, but I concluded that you were my long awaited Child of a Celestial.”
“Was that before or after you made me fall ass backwards from a height of eight
stories?” I questioned with a smirk.

He waved that off. “You were a runner. I had to adjust my approach appropriately.”
Ignoring my resulting snort, he resumed the topic. “Had you the courage to fist
bump me then, you would have undoubtedly experienced exactly what you had felt with
Court Master Durath tonight.”

“Okay. So what about now?” I reached across with my fist.

He raised a ridged brow. “What do think the Siron Pledge is doing? I am alive due
to a sacred stone and have shared my essence with Vahlta Hall in a complicated
spell to meld my life force with the books and stones around me. By completing the
pledge, the stone, myself, and the hall are dedicated to you. Power is being
transferred back and forth as we speak. You have the power to mold me into whatever
you wish.” Regardless of his words, he leaned over and tapped my fist with his.
Nothing happened. Except for the fact that he made the explosion with his fingers
as I had taught him. “Trick.”

Boom, he basically said in TreValla Common. I laughed out.

“I don’t think I’m increasing your power though since I don’t feel much through our
ties. If anything, it’s just helped me with my control issues and remaining calm,”
I said.

“You have been.”

“How?”

He gave me a piercing Rescoven look.

I threw up my hands. “Literally have no clue here, Resco.” My anxiety began to

spike. I think the keeper caught on.

“Let’s resume discussing what else happened tonight. We can delve into your powers
at another time if that makes you more comfortable,” he said, reading my expression
with acuity.

I sighed. “Probably wise.”

Continuing with our earlier conversation, when I got to Splat and described that
entire situation out at the cliffside, I hesitated before mentioning Krule. For an
entirely unacknowledged reason, one I really couldn’t absorb and one I wasn’t yet
ready to dissect to find some understanding, I felt a bit protective of the huge
illegal trespasser.

That said, I also wasn’t a fool.

So I told Keeper Rescoven about the K’Vroken.

I waited as he sat still like ice and ruminated on my words. It was important to me
how he reacted. “You must be very confused about the local politics and current
events going on in TreValla, correct?”

“Uh, yes—but you’re not disappointed in me outing some of my abilities?” One touch
from Durath and he knew I was different. The K’Vroken seemed to know something was
peculiar about me, as well, though he was also intrigued by my scent so that could
have explained some of his behavior. That aside, he was now aware I was a bit more
than just a short chick under a blanket.

My speed was a bit of an indicator.

He waved his bony hand in dismissal. “With you, revealing your abilities will be
inevitable. In fact, I’m planning for just that and have been for quite some time,
even prior to officially meeting. So no, I am not disappointed, Trick. I am here to
serve you, after all.”

“Okay,” I said. That was easy.

It’s not that I was really worried about displeasing him because he held some sort
of sway over me, or that I had some unresolved daddy issues and was capitulating to
an older man’s desire and his plans for my future, no. It was simply the fact that
we had come up with a plan together to lay low, observe the area, and manage my
energy. That’s what I had wanted. That’s what I thought would’ve been my biggest
worry.

Ahem—no. One night out and that plan was going to have to be reworked.

“I think you forget that you’ve been on Haell for quite some time and have remained
relatively unobserved by the powerful players. Of course, I believe everyone felt
the blast when the gate was opened two years ago, so movement has been steadily
building in the more, hushed circles of the upper echelon. They know something has
changed.”

“Okay, one, that doesn’t sound good. Two, you have any idea of what they’re up to
then?”

His mouth moved at the corner. A smirk. “One, as I said before, change has been
coming since you arrived and you’ve laid low longer than I thought possible. Things
will have to shift in order for you to live a full life. One of those shifts would
be recognizing that you shine, no matter the robes you wear. You have and will
continue to attract those who recognize this light, or power, and will have to
figure out if those around you are drawn because like-attracts-like, or because
they, themselves, are deficient. Two,” he said, meeting my eyes steadily for a
pause, “Powerful people work endlessly to maintain their power for as long as
possible. I have a feeling that your abductions, which are most likely all tied
together with mahdra machinations, are an effect of these prominent people
experimenting with ways to guarantee their reign for another hundred turns or so.”

Power and prominent people meant one race here in TreValla.

“So, like me, you think the mastermind behind the runes on the crates is Sahven.
Why? You seem very sure.”

Keeper Rescoven always seemed very sure and precise, actually. Splat heading uptown
and lingering in the shadows for a meeting, even if that meeting never occurred,
was one of the factors I was using to form my hypothesis. His? His reasoning
probably had more evidence and experience behind it to justify his calm confidence.

“Your arrival made the influential on Haell insecure. They do not practice the
religion of old, as I do. They are not aware nor do they have any idea of the scope
of power once talked about when the children of the Celestials walked Haell, or the
gate that rests under the bay. And only a few know the existence of the Sacred
Stone I am in possession of, even then dismissing it as tales from the old and
superstitious—the lesser in their eyes—”

“Something which you most likely perpetuated and encouraged.”

He nodded. Another barely perceivable smirk surfaced, but then Rescoven continued
by clarifying, “What they felt as the gate awakened, was something deemed
impossible. It scared them. At this point I can surely say that they are still
unaware of exactly who or what caused it, but regardless, are clambering behind the
scenes to make sure they’re not, and their power isn’t, declared as irrelevant.”

“So, all of them? Every Sahven is evil and is experimenting with mahdra users?”

“No. You know the laws of Haell, Trick. No Sahven would be seen breaking these
sacred laws or risk being caught doing so, not unless they were truly desperate, I
say. You’re probably looking for one Sahven, or perhaps one Sahven family. They
lean towards the insular.”

“Have any thoughts of who that is?” I asked hopefully, while realistically knowing
it was a long shot. He no doubt would have said.

Well, maybe. Plans within plans with Rescoven.

“I have been here for centuries inside Vahlta Hall. Though I know the titles and
history of the elite, I do not have such a conclusive grasp of the political
climate as of late to name any one name, so I will hesitate to do so. In fact,
anyone on the council of seven has the ability, means, and brazenness to commit
atrocities all in the name of maintaining power. This done clandestinely, of
course.”

“Well, it’s a start,” I said peering off, not really focused on anything, but
turning over his words in my mind. Gazing back, I asked, “And you’re sure it’s all
connected? The mahdra—my arrival?”

He nodded. “Even the captive K’Vroken ties in. As you well know, they do not
possess mahdra capability. Zero, actually. Yet in K’Vroken History of Warfare, it
alludes to the abilities of the K’Vroken warrior caste and how any spell directed
at them was eventually dismantled, or altogether ineffective in battle. It’s been
long rumored that the leaders there are nulls, passing down the ability of mahdra
invulnerability to the everyday citizen by varying degrees.”

Huh. That would make sense in a roundabout way. Why would someone collect people
with two types of abilities, those with mahdra, and those with natural resistance
to mahdra, if not to capitalize on the benefits of both? “You believe that they’re
experimenting at both offensive mahdra and defensive immunity? And all because of
an energy blast two years ago that somehow made them feel inadequate?”

His hawklike face met mine, his milky eyes once again seeing more than he should
have been capable of. “I am not certain, no.”

But that answer meant he highly suspected, which signified, in my mind, he was
pretty spot on. Close enough to be digging in that direction, at least. “Okay, so
can you sign me up for the TreValla Tribune, or the Daily, or whatever the city has
on current events? I feel completely out of my depth, especially about crimes going
on in the city, key people I should know about, and organizations that I have never
heard of before.”

“Yes, the Black Line. A recent addition to TreValla going on nearly seventy
rotations now. Interesting that you discovered them and not the other way around.”

That sounded ominous. “Should I be worried?”

He considered for a moment, then waved a gnarled hand as if shooing another crumb.
“No. Out of all the players in TreValla, the master of the Black Line is probably
the least likely to be hiding an underground experimental slave ring under the
guise of protecting and providing order for the public. Also, if you wanted
periodicals, you only had to ask. They’re located in the basement.”

“You. Have. A. Basement?” Once again, unbelievable. I shook my head. “I could have
been reading them this whole time…"

“You have a basement. And yes, I suppose you could have.” He stood and grasped the
parchment and quill again, headed toward the requisite room. Without turning back
he said, “Inside your room I have left a few books and several scrolls out that I
thought you might find intriguing. One of the latter being a directory of the
library. You’ll find the entrance to the basement labeled there, among a few other
tidbits of specialized information.”

There was no use pissing and moaning about the missed opportunities I could have
had in the basement. Nah. Especially not when he dangled new reading material over
my nose and offered me a mahdra map of Vahlta Hall. “Nice,” I said. Though he was
behind me, I stretched my head backward and gave a small, cheeky wave even though
his back was turned toward me.

“Good night, Trick,” he said, right on cue. Then he shut the door.

I chuckled. Mahdra sight on that man, I swear.

Slapping my hands on the armrests, I rose from the chair and headed up the black
spiral staircase. The second floor of the personal back rooms was hermetically
sealed with mahdra, as I was told, and contained much of the same with gorgeous
filled bookcases arranged in narrow, sky-scraping rows. There were zero windows and
the dim Vahlen crystal lighting cast ominous shadows on the stairwell as I
continued upward.

If Rescoven slept, which I was beginning to seriously doubt, I had no idea where he
did it. Every space beside the requisite room, and now mine, was dedicated to his
books. Books I now had complete access to.

As I headed up to the third floor, I smiled and shook my head, still not quite
believing the space the keeper had created for me. A small, shotgun style kitchen
took up the shorter wall to my right, equipped with a simple bistro table, sized
just for me. Polished blackwood cabinets contained the essentials, whereas onyx-
like black and gold-veined stone offered plenty of work space should I decide to
practice being a chef. My cook space and sink were all mahdra based, as was Resco’s
style.

The same midnight green marble flooring was throughout the space, as usual, with
one large camel-colored tufted couch, swathed in rich, buttery-soft leather sitting
atop an area rug of deep blues and golden yellows. A low, gold-framed glass-top
table sat in front of the sofa, while deep blackwood paneling covered every wall
except one. The entire back facade of the third level was floor-to-ceiling paned
glass, towering at forty some odd feet and sweeping back into my personal quarters.
Even the bathroom had an expansive wall of stained, obscured glass, allowing light
to filter in naturally. None of which was visible from the exterior of the
building. Go mahdra. It was as if Rescoven had fashioned a cliff face for me to
live in, minus the pungent smell from the dredges. He knew I was comfortable in
large spaces after experiencing the stars firsthand.

Resco had done well. Even the plants he introduced seemed to thrive in here with
their trailing meandering vines and their large, green, metallic gold, and
iridescent fronds. In addition, there were once again bookcases. Not as narrowly
spaced as downstairs. But they were placed strategically, here and there as if
Rescoven had mastered the art of interior design. And considering that most of the
shelves were empty, meant that he wanted me to pick and choose what I put in them.
To curate my own space.

I was still smiling—cheeks beginning to hurt, actually.

In fact, as I peered over and behind the couch, I realized he was more than just
good at what he did, he was a genius. Another blackwood spiral staircase led up to
the roof, a roof that boasted a smaller stained glass rectangular skylight just
above the couch.

The staircase was a new addition. As in the last few hours.

For him to have done this, added it without the traditional means of everyday
construction, went beyond anything I’d read. Of course I didn’t have access to
spell books so I hadn’t studied much on specific mahdra spells, but the outcomes
were certainly described, and this, this felt beyond. If I was guessing correctly,
it seemed as though Rescoven has been fashioning my room as another requisite
space, piece by piece.

Possibly the whole private quarters. Was that even feasible?

Walking over, placing my hand down on the wooden mast of the new corkscrew steps, I
felt the sly mahdra and realized it was cloaked, as was his style. I snorted. How
much you want to bet if I took the metaphorical hood off this thing, I’d see the
same glowing type of spellwork as I had seen downstairs in the back anteroom? Even
so, Resco’s work was brilliant. I couldn’t even feel any of the layered spellwork
saturating this thing, and yet the crate at the docks, I crudely felt its layered
purpose within moments.

Smiling, I made my way toward the carpet and looked at the rigidly stacked books
kindly placed on the low table by Rescoven. Picking up the parchment folded
brochure-like on top, and opened it revealing notes and annotations on the library
meticulously handwritten in English.

He was mostly fluent.

Shaking my head at his insane talent, one gained naturally through obsessive
ability rather than a blessing from the Goddesses, I caught a glimpse of a note
relevant to my room. I muttered in surprise. Walking over to the solid rear wall
near the new additional staircase, I eyed some muted, slightly iridescent runes
running vertically on the expanse. And then I thought purposefully and
specifically, as the parchment recommended.

With a slight pressure change to my inner ear, instantly a black, thickly hewn
twelve-foot door appeared, rustically framed in the same ebony-style wood including
a massive two-foot thick header above.

Well, what do you know?

Shrugging my shoulders, I turned the solid brass handle almost expecting to be

transported to another realm full of fantastic creatures, exotic alien scenery,
maybe even snow, and—and wait—I shivered. That sounded too much like traveling
through a gate.

Not happening again.

Thankfully, as I pushed through a fair amount of dread, the door required little to
no pushing as it swung with unanticipated effortlessness. Peering beyond, I was
greeted with a view of the back end of the third floor of the library. The same
silent, towering bookcases, the familiar Vahlen sconces and chandeliers, and, I
took in a deep breath from my nose, the same aged paper-scented bliss I knew so
well filling my heart.

I shut the door with a smile. That was going to be handy.

But for now, a bath.

Chapter eleven

Midmorning and I gazed up at the overcast sky feeling restless. The dark, heavy
laden purple clouds hung low, promising rain and possible thunder later in the
afternoon.

Perhaps it was because of this ozone-like petrichor, that I actually felt a nervous
anticipation. You see, it was always during the darkest days that there was a
chance you’d see two opposites colliding. On any normal day, the starlight shines
brightly and life goes on as normal. But occasionally, on perhaps days like today,
you see the titans flex. Haell and the ever present over-the-shoulder crepuscular
rays clashing in dissonance, contending for dominance, and somehow finding a sliver
of harmony in one stage-like sky to exist together, even amongst so much remaining
discord.

Or some days it just remains black and you get TKO’d. And since Haell seemed
feisty, who knew what was in store for all of us in TreValla. Adding to that, I
didn’t know if the twin suns of the planet wanted to play at the moment, given the
fact that I had no idea if they were part of my loving Sister group or not. They
didn’t talk to me. Didn’t acknowledge me, really. Which was all well and good. I
didn’t need big, disapproving sisters dealing in nuclear fusion directly over my
shoulder, monitoring how badly I was fracking up.

Which, hopefully, wasn’t by that much…not that I had done much living at all, up
until now. Just surviving.

Tucking the thick stack of papers under my arm, I proceeded to the small, newly
added stairway leading down to my room. I had spent the last few hours reading
periodicals on the flat portion of Vahlta Hall’s rooftop, enjoying the fresh,
turbulent air and the seclusion of having one of the few buildings in the city that
wasn’t readily accessible to the chaotic, often dangerous life of TreValla’s
couriers and adrenaline rooftop-sprinting junkies.

To which I belonged, yes.

That acknowledged, my recently created veranda was just too tall to get atop
quickly enough, and the front edifice of Vahlta Hall too steep, even if someone had
descended and repelled from the cliff. Which wasn’t likely. Moreover, it resided in
a fringe area, the pathways of any worthwhile route more centrally located. Which
all was a moot point considering there was undoubtedly some kind of rune design
discouraging parkour written or carved somewhere along the roof line.

Given Rescoven’s personality, that actually made more sense. Not on his lawn.
Descending the coiling stairs, the sliding window pane smoothly closed up after me.
Entering my personal quarters, I began adding the remnants of even more reading
material from last night to my heavily laden arms. Yes, I had found the basement.
No, I hadn’t slept. Since I was a permanent resident, Rescoven had said I was able
to take as many books, scrolls, and daily periodicals up to my room as I could
possibly handle. Which, I was finding out was awkward and cumbersome given the fact
that I had made multiple trips upstairs with my lovelies, only to attempt coming
down with all of them in one trip.

Intelligence.

Barely able to see over the precarious stacks in my arms, I made my way quickly
through the recently discovered back door of my quarters, through the bookcases of
the always deserted third floor, and down the coiling marble staircase trusting my
feet to find the next step without visual aid. Nearly there, hefting my stack, I
took the final steps bisecting the center floor on the main level before attempting
to orderly deposit the books onto the formidable crescent-shaped Keeper’s desk.

They spilled out.

Scrambling, only one of the books toppled onto the marble near Resco’s feet. He was
intently working on some type of parchment and rune formation with his quill.

“Sorry,” I said, putting my hands up and making sure he’d stay seated. “I got it.
Don’t get up.” Quickly, entering the enclosed desk area, I snatched the book up,
checking the corners and eyeing it for damage. None.

Without taking his eyes off his work, he said, “Perhaps more than one trip would
have been wise.”

Yep. Probably.

“I’m putting them away so don’t sick them on me. And yeah, I know—now.” Balancing
the books down the stairs had worked out just fine whilst holding my breath.
Unloading them, well, not so much.

“No need to put each individual book away, they’ll soon sort themselves.”

My mouth dropped. Once again, since we were in a public space and having just come
from outside, I was covered with the robe, face and hands shadowed. “Have you
spelled every book in here to do that?”

Simply, as if it was no huge feat at all, he said, “Yes.”

“That must have taken you—”

“Quite the duration, yes. But I have had adequate time here to tune the Hall. At
this point, anything less than perfection would be inexcusable laziness. And with
the Hall now brimming with your life force, many, if not all of my past
incantations have enough power to run. Just tap the spines twice and they will see
their way back to their shelves. If you had left them in your room, a scanning
spell would have eventually triggered to gauge your intent and they would have
returned to their cataloged place had they felt you were finished with them. That,
or they would have found a place on your personal shelves if your interest
remained.”

I just blinked. Quite the duration, my ass. The brilliance he just had blithely
described probably had taken decades, if not longer. Which got me thinking...
“Are there those who have seriously paid heed to your lifespan? Mind you, I’m aware
the Sahven and citizens gifted with large amounts of mahdra live prolonged lives
and all, hundreds of turns if not more, but it just seems that if they were
cognizant of your bonding with a sacred stone and the longevity it has given you,
you would have been deemed a threat well before now.”

He peered at me over the rim of his glasses. “Most believe I am an old keeper with
a long, faithful line of wealthy, potent benefactors. I am merely a steward for a
humble, publicly owned hall of learning. To them, the power I bestow is none other
than gifted mahdra spells and one-time use incantations. My lifespan is explained
in the same manner. The more someone—anyone is around mahdra and the energy it
consists of, the longer you live.” He went back to writing, slowly and meticulously
forming the runes with each measured stroke. Without breaking eye contact with the
parchment, he said, “And for those that realized their influence over Vahlta Hall
was severed, those that saw me as a threat and knew the origins of my actual power
and didn’t discount it as superstitious drivel? Well, they no longer see me as a
threat.”

I laughed out. “Because they no longer see at all. Because they’re dead. Am I
right?” I asked, realizing I was a bit giddy about his murderous capabilities.

Rescoven actually huffed, which made me smile even more. Then he sighed, his ear
flicking. “I took care of the problem,” he said vaguely.

“Gangsta, Jeeves.”

“I keep forgetting that your favorite book here is on K’Vroken warfare. For a tiny
full grown female, you seem unexpectedly fixated on physical combat and the art of
killing, near immune to the horrors of death if last night you laughed over the
corpse of that dockworker.” He looked at me askance and paused his work, awaiting
my reply.

Shrugging and eyeing a thread dangling from my robe’s sleeve with a frown, I said,
“History is fascinating and K’Vrokens are like space barbarians being that they are
completely badass. And Splat? He was an evil pig. Squealed like one, too.”

“And yet your morality still guides you and directs you to help in an investigation
regarding abductions that you could leave well enough alone. You could focus your
time and effort elsewhere.”

“You said they were connected to me because of the blast from two years ago. I’m
already involved. Why not try to fix it and help those who’ve been dragged into an
evil shivit’s power grab?”

“Very noble,” he said, still studying me. “Tell me, if you personally find the one
responsible, what will you do?”

“Kill him.” I shrugged. Oops. “Or her.”

With that answer, Rescoven’s mouth turned up slowly in a large predatory smile, his
shiny gray Falk teeth rather sharp. “I am proud to serve you, Trick. You were worth
the long wait.”

“Word up, Resco.” My willingness to enact violence was a bonus he clearly hadn’t
expected.

Nodding, he appeared the quintessential Earth villain, lethally sharp, cold, and
too severe and odd looking to pass for a hero. Here, he was a Keeper, neutral until
he decided not to be. Both good and bad, depending on who you were.

Mutual bonding over future homicidal justice aside, I switched the subject over to
something else I had been pondering. Resco wasn’t delicate and I didn’t feel he’d
mind the intrusion. Not from me. Even so, if he chose not to reply, then I had my
answer. No harm done.

“Hey, you have any children or grandchildren running around? You know, since you’re
old?”

Working on his runes again, courteously, he said, “If it helps your curiosity, you
may think of the books as my children, since I preferred to solely dedicate my life
to learning.”

“I love your kids,” I breathed dramatically, holding my heart. But then I

straightened, my eyes heading for the door. Presently, there was a restlessness in
my bones that I knew wouldn’t subside unless I was outside and at least making an
attempt to stop future kidnappings in some way. Having the extra knowledge from a
night of cramming made me more confident in my ability to prove useful.

At least I hoped.

About to open my mouth and include Resco in on my plan for the rest of the day, he
flicked his hand toward a large, palm-sized drawstring pouch on the counter,
perhaps already guessing at my intentions. “You will take these shellons with you
while you are out.”

It was not a question.

I snorted. With an easy salute in his direction, with the sleeves of my robe having
been taken up at the shoulder and the tips of my fingers now permanently free, I
tucked the pouch in my pocket. Walking backward, avoiding the Hall’s ominous,
glowing hourglass, I asked, “You need me to get anything for you?” I mean, if he
had a runner on retainer, I may as well offer my services for free since I already
was going out.

His head snapped up, the eerie eyes and readers burning down his aquiline nose as
he chastised me with his gaze. “Decidedly not. I work for you—not the other way
around. Feel free to buy anything you’d like. Have it held if it is too large and I
will arrange a pick-up.” He then flicked his fingers at me in a shooing motion and
then turned his attention back to the parchment. “Have a purposeful day. Make sure
you eat,” he said, without looking up.

“Okay,” I said to myself with a chuckle. Shaking my head, I turned around and
traipsed towards the causeway leading to the main entry. With a nod, I addressed
the flanking pair of stone statues at the doors. “Bruiser, Dave.” I paused. No
answer.

With a shrug, I left.

Forgoing my usual speed, I casually hoisted myself on a nearby balcony and went
rooftop, jumping and leaping with calm as I hummed a favorite tune and my eyes
meandered the streets below. Heading downward, my destination was the Dredges as I
was counting on a Black Line presence at the scene, even now after last night’s
raid.

Perhaps it was the weather, but the morning was subdued and the typical city sounds
seemed hushed as people had drawn inward completing most of their work inside their
homes and businesses. They were sensing the incoming storm.
Descending for some time, I paused on a lower workhouse rooftop as my eyes caught
sight of two figures in conversation on the outlying docks near the second, smaller
bay. One tall, one shorter. I made my way down, avoiding a steaming draven pile at
the last second, and focused on the two males. A gust of wind blew at me bringing
the smell of ocean and the sounds of lapping waves, along with the hushed
conversation. Something about yet another body. It was found on the rocks a few
clicks from the warehouse near the open ocean, half eaten by crabs and discovered
with an emaciated juvenile wild draven attached to it, eating the soft parts.

As I got closer, I heard more and more. I knew exactly who the dead guy was. Jero
and Braghen soon stopped talking, and turned to me, as if dumbfounded.

“Has Court Master Durath examined that body—the one found at the rocks? Pretty sure
the dude was spelled to jump off the cliff last night. I don’t know if you can get
a mahdra signature off of a corpse, but figured it’d be worth it for your CM to
try,” I said, slowly coming to a stop with my hands in my pockets. I had been
thinking on it all night with no sleep. I hadn’t noticed the sly mahdra until it
was too late and the asshole was already squealing and plummeting to his demise.

After some shock, they turned to each other as if questioning their luck, then back
to me. Finally, Jero spoke up saying, “Kid, you’re just who we needed.”

Wasn’t expecting that.

“I didn’t push that guy off the cliff last night if that’s what you’re getting at.
I just witnessed him being interrogated,” I said, a bit cautiously. Probably should
have thought it out more, being that I could’ve been seen as a suspect. “And when
he was about to talk, the guy just…” I made a diving motion with my shadowed hands.
“It was as if he was spelled to do so before he divulged any damning information.”

Braghen, with his arms folded, asked, “Who was questioning him?”

This was the part in which I had thought about my answer.

I shrugged. “I didn’t see him properly. He was in robes and had his back turned to
me. I’d been watching the raid on the warehouse last night from the cliff when I
heard voices and went to go check them out.” No need to reveal the status of an
illegal alien, being that I was one myself. “The robed guy was pissed at the jumper
though—was attempting to get him to disclose who is behind all the disappearances
through threats. But in the end, he was wanting information, not his death.”

Braghen’s eyes narrowed in thought as he mulled over my words.

I didn’t offer any more information. I took a step back.

Jero threw a look at his partner. “You’re scaring him. Stop.” He walked over the
wooden planks towards me. “Master Durath asked for you. We were just about to go
looking for you,” he said, now smiling. He didn’t seem disingenuous or hiding
ulterior motives...“Honestly kid, you’re good luck. This whole mess is now being
looked at properly. And Braghen and I,” he said, indicating the both of them,
“we’re finally involved in the investigation. It’s because of you we were able to
rescue thirteen citizens from the slave trade last night.”

I stood there, awkwardly, not really knowing how to respond to the praise and a tad
wary of the same complimentary tone. Was he just trying to be nice? Afraid I’d jolt
off? Probably. Rescoven had had that same problem with me. I must have been giving
off some telltale vibes for them to recognize that, despite the shroud I wore.
Straightening my shoulders, I stood tall. I was here at the docks for a reason. If
Jero and Braghen had ulterior motives to lock me up, I’d find out soon enough.
“Seems like it has been going on for a while though. Looking back, the papers
mentioned more bodies found within the last two years. I’m glad you were able to
rescue those people, but it makes me wonder how many have been missed.” The limp
bodies on the stretchers from the raid were at the forefront of my mind.

“You’re right. We haven’t done enough,” Braghen said.

“Yes, old news there, Brag.” Jero rolled his eyes at his companion with a bit of
exasperation. “But there is forward momentum now. We can beat ourselves up about
the inaction as a whole, or we can work towards finding the root of the slave ring
and end it once and for all.” It sounded as if those words had been said more than
once today already. Braghen grunted, acknowledging the point.

Jero turned to me again. “And you can help us.”

There was a pause.

Braghen looked down. “He has helped us, Jero,” he said, more to the ground, but
there was a firm nod attached to it.

“Right—see this?” Jero asked, pointing to his collar so I’d look. There was a small
gold bar pinned to it on the side. “Already you’ve helped us in rank. Something we
didn’t think would be possible. You are good luck, I swear it,” Jero said with a
sideways, charming smile. “And the investigation needs more luck. So will you come
with us?”

“Yeah. Well, I was planning to help,” I said, with some hesitation. “But I’m not
too sure you need me to accompany you.” I originally thought I’d serve as an
informant, a stray reject they could come to for information now and then. Or one
that would occasionally seek them out, like today.

“CM mentioned you may not be found very easily. That you might be a bit skittish,”
Braghen supplied. After having been told to “get lost”, I was pretty sure it was an
accurate assumption for those who came across Durath’s path and were subjected to
his threatening advice.

Being that I was me…

I shrugged. “Okay, I’ll go. Where to?”

Jero nodded and clasped his hands together. “Excellent. Court Master said, ‘find
that Trick and get the kid to the compound’, then cursed as he left the hospital
wing.” He glanced at me. “Nice street name, by the way,” he said, snorting. He was
walking toward me, off the rotting boardwalk. “Never have seen CM so agitated. But
then again, we all were last night.”

Braghen followed Jero’s heels. We all began an upward climb.

Passing a pub with peeling paint and a swing door swaying crookedly on its hinges,
I tried not to breathe in as the wafting scent of piss and vomit hovered stagnant
in the depression of the road. It was a good thing we were going vertical soon.

At least I hoped that was the plan.

Thinking of plans, I realized that I had failed to mention a key part of

information that I had already factored into conveying to them, just hadn’t yet.
“Yeah, about that. You are aware that the recent dead body discovered on the rocks
is the same warehouse manager we all talked to yesterday, right?”

“Yes, we identified him. Jero and I knew he was dirty,” Braghen commented darkly.

“Yeah, in more ways than one,” I said, with a slight shudder thinking of the
gagging and vomiting germ.

And then I thought of Krule. Carefully filing past a massive team of yoked, braying
draven and their haul, we swatted through the swarm of trailing insects and focused
on a sturdy balcony up ahead. I smiled under my hood while imagining the heavy
K’Vroken riding these two particular beasts last night after crashing through their
roof. They would have put up a nasty fight.

Stifling a laugh, I ran ahead, jumped a few steps on the vertical wall, and
successfully made a leaping grab onto the ledge to pull myself up. Jero and Braghen
did the same, but not without giving me a factoring, impressed look. Once atop, I
proceeded to the tell them everything that I saw last night after the explosion in
the warehouse. Everything pertinent, that was.

Okay, the redacted version.

Not that there was much information to relay since I witnessed very little
interrogation before Splat went, well, splat. I didn’t mention the K’Vroken aspect
in any of it, even regarding the kinsman who had once been captured himself. His
race wasn’t revealed. But they now knew an abductee from an earlier group had
escaped, and their family or clansmen were conducting an independent investigation.

Nothing like good ol’ omission of facts.

We ascended the city at a swift, but breathable pace. They asked me questions and I
answered truthfully, as much as I could. Nearing the compound, we made our way down
and entered the large open gateway as the rain began to fall, little drops at
first, followed by a booming clap of thunder and heavier drops of moisture.

“I’ll go find a runner,” Braghen said, trotting off.

Maneuvering around what seemed like a small working army within the city, Black
Line uniforms crisscrossed the courtyard with haste and efficiency. Some had rank
on their collar, many without. A group of males hefted a couple of crates into a
nearby office while others walked with purpose carrying scrolls past those
murmuring and packing up combat equipment. They were all preparing for a deluge.

“We’re to take you to the holding cellar,” Jero said, leading the way. “Brag is
going to get the CM to meet us there.”

“I’m hoping that that’s not the dungeon and I’m not about to be locked up.” I mean,
I didn’t think that was my fate being here, but you never knew. I walked on,
anyway.

Jero shook his head. “No. You’re to look at the warehouse corpse. At least that’s
what I gathered from the CM. We could have taken the lift down there,” he
mentioned, as we passed a few buildings, including a veranda over a mess hall, and
then entered a side door to another office. He nodded to a passing male. “But it’s
usually used for the dead bodies we get coming in. I don’t know about you, but
that’s a lot of bad energy I’d rather avoid in a cramped space heading down in the
mountain. Plus, who knows if it's been cleaned. Hey,” he looked over his shoulder
for a moment, “maybe you can get a job cleaning the lift and the males’ barracks
here when this is all over.”
“Yeah, hard pass on that one.”

“Oh, right. I keep forgetting you’re smart. And blessed.” Another glance back at
me. “Shivit luck with your robes though, kid.” He shook his head and then stopped
at a tucked away stairwell carved out of the natural blahnk stone. “Blessed first.”

I snickered. “No thanks.”

“Scared?” He nodded mockingly, but with good humor. “I get it. Still sleeping with
a crystal at night?” But he didn’t wait for my reply. He stepped down.

I huffed. “You always like this?” I asked, following.

“Yes. When Braghen isn’t here to shut me up.”

“Is your cousin worse?” I wondered, considering the phrase I had to utter
yesterday.

Jero laughed out as we descended, the sound echoing down the shaft. “I like to
think so.”

We ended up in a chill, surprisingly dry passage lit with small wall-mounted Vahlen
crystals that emitted cool tones of light, rather than the amber hues that were
hung in Vahlta Hall. Passing an empty shaft, no doubt for the lift, we continued
through the stone pathway until we reached a desk. A black uniform was stationed
there. The green male Pyroch looked up from a ledger of sorts, as I eyed zero rank
on his collar.

“Is this the consult?” he asked, taking in my robes with a bit of a sneer, the
skepticism and disdain clearly evident. No biggie, there. I was a bit unsettled by
the term 'consult', myself.

“Yes,” Jero said. “Room three, right?”

The man nodded. “You’ll wait here until the Court Master arrives.”

“No shivit,” Jero said, leaning up against the wall. I did the same, trying to
appear small and invisible. The man scowled and looked back down, using his quill a
tad too harshly by the sound of it.

A few minutes later, we heard footsteps originating from the stairwell. Master
Durath came through the passage with a swift, purposeful walk and passed us while
saying, “Follow me.”

Jero and I began to move.

“Just her,” Durath said.

Jero halted his steps. “Her? Her?” He stared at me, mouth agape.

Suppressing a laugh, I gave him a small wave but then walked on. Behind me, I heard
muffled cursing in disbelief, not about being left out, but muttering about the
inappropriateness of suggesting cleaning the male barracks.

Chapter twelve
Following Durath into room three, it immediately went deathly silent. Fitting. A
chill went straight to my bones as the area was much colder than the first. A
scowling Durath halted, his arms folded. He was staring at a body on a wooden
table. A half-eaten, yet disturbingly recognizable one. Like the inside of a morbid
beehive, people sized holes were chiseled out in the stone surrounding us. Only a
handful were taken up with the indicating protrusion of feet draped with coarse
threaded sheets.

“I just placed a silencing spell on the room. We can speak openly.”

Figured. I had felt something crossing the threshold. “Uh, okay.” Well, here goes,
“I thought you told me to ‘get lost’.” For having just met the guy last night, his
summons today seemed a tad contradictory.

Briefly, he looked at me askance.

Ignoring my words, he said, “I have gone over what happened last night more than
I’d like to admit. And each time after I factor in all the circumstances and facts,
I come to the same conclusion, that what happened was a fluke. I was just…lucky.”
He shook his head. There was a pause, his gray eyes now peering ahead without
really seeing anything, but deep in thought, nonetheless. For a military man such
as himself, it seemed a bit off-putting to see his mind focused elsewhere rather
than the here and now. “Thing is, I don’t believe in luck. And I have never had the
capability to dismantle a level five combative deception spell disguised as a level
three obscurant incantation.” He once again turned to me, this time really seeing
me for who I was, despite the robe. He was angry. “That entire warehouse was
spelled to explode the minute someone without a specific rune keyed to them even
coughed on those crates wrong.”

Holy shivit. Didn’t know that. Mind you, I knew it was a powerful spell, but I
didn’t think it was anything that Durath couldn’t handle.

“Well?” he barked.

I blew out some air from my cheeks. Durath’s words were a bit sudden. “Well, what?”
My hands were instantly up and out. What did he want me to say? “I didn’t know.
Maybe the spell had degraded—became unstable?” I hedged.

“When I say it was a level five, it was a level five,” he clipped.

As if I knew what the hell that meant. All I knew was that I was deficient in
mahdra knowledge, and that deficiency, plus his attitude was raising my hackles.
“What about ‘all’s well that ends well?’” I asked in Falk. Surprisingly, it was a
phrase I’d heard used similarly in his tongue. His head snapped back in surprise.
Switching back to Common I continued, “The fact that you’re so keyed up indicates
that you’re a control freak and last night when you felt your usual tight rein
slip, it frightened you. For that, I’m sorry. But I am not personally responsible
for the crates being set up with tripwire threats. I mean, aren’t you glad you and
your team didn’t vaporize? I don’t see the problem with you recognizing and
dismantling a hidden bomb, successfully.”

Nothing like an argument for getting to know someone better.

“That isn’t the problem, girl—”

“I’m fully grown, here,” I interrupted him.

He swung his head toward me and looked down with a dubious raised brow, as if
unbelieving. But then he took in my robes, inhaled as if trying to catch my scent,
and shook his head. Folding his massive arms, he began to pace the small room, the
grotesque dead body not important to him at the moment.

“What I’d like to know is how, with one touch of your hand, did you manage to
increase my ability to hold and harness mahdra to the point I can go head to head
with a level five spell.” He raised his voice at the end.

Great. He just had to address it, didn’t he? Yeah, I knew what he’d been getting
at, but I didn’t feel particularly happy about acknowledging it at the moment,
considering I knew very little about my ability or what exactly had happened.

Crossing my arms, I knew that silence wasn’t going to work on Durath. I took a
deep, annoyed breath. “Well, trick, how the hell am I supposed to know? It’s all
new to me! You should be thankful, by the way. Not acting all,” I waved a hand in
his direction, “Like that.”

He stopped pacing. “Like what?”

“Like a big damn baby, that’s what!” I huffed, aggravated. “For Haven’s sake,
you’re acting a tad ridiculous. You know what happens to me when impossible crap
vrekks up my life? I roll with the punches. Keep calm, carry on, and all that
garbage.” He was staring at me, but I wasn’t done. “And boo-hoo man, you’re even
stronger than before. Maybe now your mahdra will match the circumference of your
huge, draven-sized neck.” I looked up in exasperation. Every single one of them was
massive. Were they all this sensitive, too? I was fired up.

I realized I just said that last part out loud. Vrekk it.

Try traveling through the universe having what seemed like the worst luck with each
progressive jump, only to come to the conclusion that the best jump so far resulted
in you entering through a dilapidated, sunken ruin, drowning countless times and
then coming back to awareness, only to black out again in panic as cold, crushing
liquid filled your lungs and had you seizing in rictus, heart beating nearly out of
your chest. And you, visionless in the deep, eardrums and sinuses having been
compressed nine times over, still had to manage some form of higher thought and
calm down despite the circumstances.

Okay, so, I didn’t really need to breathe with my Celestial biology. No, I didn’t
die each time. Just interminable blackouts with my body fighting human reflex
whilst trying to grasp some buried demigod-like zen. But try telling your mind that
when pressure from the abysmal depths of an unknown ocean was doing its best to
implode your insides while your alien regeneration fought to keep up. It was a tad
difficult.

But. I. Managed.

What’s even more is that that was the best jump I’d had. And still, I was grateful.

Pretty sure a man many times my senior by maturity standards didn’t need a life
lesson, but I couldn’t help myself as I felt it spill out. “Thing is, shivit
befalls us all. And if I’ve learned anything, perhaps even been enlightened by a
chance encounter with, yet, another huge stranger, is that we can’t always dodge
it. We sometimes even end up smelling like it. But, if you have the tenacity, the
will to carry on and live your life willing and able to roll with the punches, you
may just end up with the opportunity to walk in the corpse of the one whose crap
was thrown at you and condemn them to an unfulfilled afterlife of eternal hunger
and relentless pain.” Talk about a high note. Pat, pat on my own back. I took a
deep breath, calming down, realizing just now some of the stuff I said was a tad
irrelevant and borderline weird as hell.

“So,” I shrugged, expelling the breath, fighting a rising insecurity from my

outburst, “Life is good.”

Silence.

Wait. Was…was he crying?

In reaction, I looked around as if the dead bodies would reanimate and help out, or
at least commiserate with me and my look of 'are you seeing this?' Cringingly, I
looked up at the CM, my mouth slightly open, eyes distressed and wary. His hand was
cupped around his chin and mouth as he shook. Then his shoulders quaked even more.
Had I reacted too harshly? Was my unique perspective somehow blowing his mind? I
made a face somehow doubting that, but regardless, performed an awkward move and
lightly patted him on the back with my sleeve.

“Uh…there-there.”

He erupted in laughter.

Some would think a military man such as he would be incapable. But no, it was full
on, body shaking, arms folded around his mid-section, laughter. A man who looked as
if he were carved from immovable stone with a rigid cadence of having all of
Haell’s weight on his shoulders—a man who appeared that barking orders was his only
relief from a lifetime of emotional constipation—was actually tearing up in giant
guffaws, looking as though he might fall over.

I crossed my arms and scowled.

He teetered over to the examination table and leaned his elbows on the surface.

“Ew, don’t do that,” I said, uncrossing my arms while pinching his black sleeve to
pull him off. “You’ll get a disease.”

Moments passed as he finally recognized what I was doing.

Hilarity somewhat dying down, he stood, still trying to catch his breath. Flicking
his wrist, I felt instant mahdra flow around him as whatever dark slime had been
transferred on his sleeve from the gurney was no longer there. “So you’re telling
me, Trick, that you’ve thrown some of your shivit at me and to walk it off because
I’ll get my revenge in end?”

“What?—no. That’s not what I meant. I’m not your metaphorical monkey—makuula,
whatever. I’m not throwing crap anywhere. What you got was mahdra—that’s a good
thing.” I shrugged. “But, for what it’s worth, I am sorry about that. I didn’t know
what was happening, or what I was doing last night.”

He waved off my words shaking his head as if he could barely believe what he was
hearing, some of it probably not even processed. “No, girl. You’re right. Some
things just happen, I realize that. And I saw your body language last night in the
office. You were just as surprised as I was. I’ve already concluded that you didn’t
do it on purpose.”

“Then, what’s your deal?” I asked, curious. I had my reasons to stress out, but I
wanted to know how this new development affected his.
He straightened his posture, but then clenched his jaw, thinking. Shaking his head,
he said, “According to the few surviving witnesses we were able to question from
the raid, TreValla may have a powerful Sahven who is working mahdra and extracting
it from ‘lesser’ races, particularly the outcasts, performing experiments on them
to capture more energy. I didn’t believe them at first, but the evidence is there.”

This was not new to me, but I nodded.

Exhaling, he said, “With you running around, vulnerable as ever in the robes of the
rejected, this Sahven has their answer for greater power, in One.Tiny.Girl.”

“Lady,” I corrected. And then rolled my eyes at that ill-defining term.

He continued as I hadn’t spoken. “If he is willing to torture and kill those who
are deemed socially invisible and weak, what would he do to you? And with the power
gained from his abductees, you in particular, what would happen to the city? As I
said, you could start a war. Someone like you needs protection.”

I snorted. Pretty sure I’d mess any dude up if he tried to drain me. Problem was
that I’d have to concentrate on not leveling the city, or continent while doing it.
“I’m no lightweight,” I said as he looked down at me disbelievingly. “Okay,
metaphysically not a lightweight, here. And I’m not planning on a huge throwdown,
so no need to worry about that.”

He shook his head. “No. I called you here to the compound because you need the
Lord’s protection. I haven’t yet described what you did to me and how you affected
my power to Lord Theros. I’m still waiting to see if it will subside.” He ran a
hand across his scalp. “But I can’t risk having you walk around the city,
endangered that you are.”

“I appreciate your concern but—”

He narrowed his eyes, his long ear twitched. “And dangerous. You pose a significant
danger to the city if you got taken and…used.” He expressed distaste for the last
word.

I had a distaste for all of what he was saying. “You mean used by the wrong person,
right? Because clearly,” I pointed to the body, “you were planning on consulting
with me on this dude, here. Is that not also being used?”

“Not if you're cooperating.”

Touché. I was just being difficult. My plan was to help, regardless.

He cleared his throat. “I was hoping since you can grasp and get a feel for
someone’s mahdra without touch, you might be able to read any residual spells
coming off his corpse and perhaps, I don’t know, feel the signature of the castor.
We’re guessing he didn’t jump on his own volition.” He waved a hand, clearly vexed
we had gotten off point. “But we weren’t talking about that. I’d like for you to
stay here, in the compound until this abduction problem has been solved and taken
care of. Living on the streets insecure and exposed is unacceptable.”

“Kindly, I will decline that offer as I am not insecure nor exposed and certainly
not living in the streets.” No need to tell him about my earlier abode. "And yes, I
can catch a hint of the spellcaster’s energy signature. Not that it really helps
being that I know very few mahdra users to compare it to. But I can say that it has
the same feel as the crates. No doubt Splat here was forced to walk right off a
cliff or kill himself in some awful and final way before he ever had the chance to
spill the beans.”
Durath’s eyes narrowed in speculation. “I don’t know what your last words meant,
but you actually can get something off the body? I can’t feel anything let alone
identify a specific signature. No one can do that last part.”

Yet he called me here thinking there was a chance. Here was to being less
oblivious. I peered at the body considering it, my nose wrinkled. It was smashed,
pecked, and ripped to shreds with much of the torso having gone down a starving
draven’s gullet. Blood oozed out in dark coagulated lumps of blackish-blue, the
face unrecognizable as it had fallen first onto the rocks. Odd to be feeling even a
spark of lingering power when last night I had only noticed it as soon as Splat was
already headed south. Pretty sure I felt spells around the examination table, too,
most likely blocking the odor. Undoubtedly without it, we would have been assaulted
with the tang of the blood, the scent of rot and fish, and most assuredly,
intestinal smell.

“Yeah. It’s weak and actively unweaving as we speak, but it’s there.”

“And you also read a signature off the main crate? Even through the obscurant
spell?” He folded one arm across his chest with the other resting on it
perpendicularly. His large hand cupped his chin.

I took a deep breath, speculating. “I’ve come across obscurant spells that are, to
my senses, completely invisible. I’ve witnessed the best at those. These are less
powerful and appear more…clumsy?” I shook my head. “I don’t know if that is the
right word. Maybe careless. Too sure of itself? Really strong, but underwhelming in
its completion considering the castor’s natural talent.” If that made any sense.
Compared to Keeper Rescoven’s obsessiveness with mastery, pretty sure half of the
Sahven would seem inexperienced and careless. Resco was no joke.

“You can determine their talent level?”

“Uh, yeah,” I responded. I was just giving him what I observed.

“Vrekk me,” he said, shaking his head. “And you get a feel of the castor in the
spell?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you’d be able to rule out mahdra users if I got you close enough to
feel their signatures?”

I shrugged, hem-hawing my answer. “Yeah, probably. But my guess is that they’re

Sahven, as you surmised, as well. How are you going to manage getting those elusive
snobs into a room so, in their eyes, a nasty reject like me can metaphysically
sniff their ivory asses?”

He shook his head. “The way you phrase things…” His words trailed off. Then he
dropped his hand and crossed his arms again, straightening his already towering
height. “I propose you get hired on with the Black Line. You’d be surprised what
Lord Theros can manage.”

“Yeah, I’m aware he’s Sahven, too. Had to dig to find that information. Pretty
peculiar that he lives midtown rather in the nosebleeds. Honestly, I figure he’s
persona non grata with his peers since he’s slumming it with the commoners.”

Durath scowled down. “He doesn’t have the same views as those seated on the
council. The Black Line was his idea, a way to help TreValla’s citizens maintain a
safe city and keep commerce going between the three continents.”
“But there’s five.”

“Trick, I meant Sahven controlled continents. Braghen and Jero said you were smart.
I’m realizing now that you’re a smart draven’s ass.”

“Careful, I’m female and have delicate sensibilities,” I said, toying with him.

He tilted his head and pointed a long finger at me. “You will stay in the barracks
and we will pay you as a mahdra-blessed member of the Black Line.”

“Like I was going to say before you cut me off, I appreciate your concern, but that
won’t be happening. Me staying here or becoming a Black Line recruit,” I said
simply. “Also, I can’t actually work with mahdra. Never learned. Don’t want to
learn.” Oh sure, I wanted to read about it plenty. Just didn’t want to try my hand
at practicing it. Ever.

“What do you mean? When we touched, you lit me up with the mahdra you had inside
yourself. You’re a walking torch.”

Bit more than that.

“I don’t feel comfortable using it. My choice.”

He shook his head. Again. A few moments passed. “That’s…fine. Regardless, you will
stay here. It’s too dangerous to allow you to leave, for you or for the city.”

“I think I like you. But no, I have a home and someone who relies on me,” I said
politely, smiling inwardly thinking of how much Resco would be offended by my
cheek. “He’s old.”

Durath pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then we will give him safe harbor, as
well.”

“Nah, he wouldn’t like that.”

“It would be temporary,” he said.

I shook my head. “Not going to happen.”

He adjusted his shoulders maximizing his intimidating height and gave me a look.
“Why not?” he asked, clearly unused to someone questioning his authority and not
simply capitulating to his militant dominance. “You know what, never mind, I will
speak to him. Now. Let’s go.”

He made to pass me for the doorway. I didn’t move. Luckily, he didn’t forcibly
remove me. Tilting my head, I asked, “Do you have permission from Lord Theros to be
offering all this?”

Eyeing me with dwindling patience, he said, “He knows of the mahdra-blessed vagrant
informant, yes,” he gritted out. “I’ve been told he would rather have you here than
out there.”

“So, I have no choice,” I said, feeling a bit cheeky. Probably not practical to
feel as flippant as I did at the moment.

He sighed. “You may consider yourself a reluctant guest since you don’t wish to
work officially on the Black Line—why, given your status,” he said, waving a hand
at my robe, “I have no clue.”
“I don’t like the sound of reluctant guest. You’re not going to let this go are
you?”

“I’m afraid I can’t. I also figured that there’d be no argument on the subject.”

I narrowed my eyes, thinking. “Would you try to find me if I was successful in

running off right now?”

He crossed his arms again. Try it, his look said.

This time I sighed. Whatever. It was going to come out anyway. “I live with Keeper
Rescoven at Vahlta Hall. He needs me to survive being that he is old and feeble.”

“The vrekk he is!” Durath looked at me as if I had sprouted another head.

“Oh, you know him?” I asked.

He grumbled something unintelligible, his eyes searching my robes as if trying to

find understanding. That, or attempting to see the strings of a master Machiavelli
at work. You never knew with Rescoven. “Yes. As much as anyone can know my great
uncle.”

“Hot damn!” I laughed out. “That’s awesome. Honestly,” I tilted my head squinting
up, analyzing. “I can kind of see it. Both of you enjoy corralling people into
making decisions.” Not that I was bitter with Resco. Nah. I admired him for his
craftiness, always had. Now even more so knowing he was full-on team Trick. “Both
of you are dangerous…but you’re more of a courageous and stern military-like
threat, whereas he’s a cunning and vicious type of poison. You must get along
really well. Also, he’d be unhappy if I didn’t make it back.”

“The fact that he’s associated with you changes everything,” he said lowly, and
with dread. “And no, we do not get along.”

I laughed. “Calm down, I’ll still help so no worries.”

Chapter thirteen

Durath marched out of the room scowling with me dogging his heels grinning.
Braghen, now underground, was waiting with Jero and had been talking animatedly
with his partner until our exit. They snapped their heads up and shut their mouths
as soon as we left room three. Braghen’ s eyes focused on us, narrowing as if in
denial about something, but seeking confirmation, evidence to support a new
development. His nostrils flared.

Oh yeah, that. Female me.

Durath kept walking and passed the males, confident they would fall in line. No
surprise, they did. Well, we all were. Durath had a commanding wake that attracted
minions of all sorts.

Me included, it seemed.
In Falk, Durath said, “Keep an eye on her and follow her whenever she is out in the
city. You two will serve as her protection.” But then he stopped and exhaled with
force. Shaking his head, he said, “I forgot about your ability with languages.” He
turned around and looked at me. Instead of the irritated expression I was
expecting, he appeared thoughtful. In TreValla common he said to his men, “Change
of plans. Take her to the hospital wing and see if she can understand that Ath’Vela
patient from last night. And then follow her, protect her if need be.”

Jero and Braghen both affirmed the orders.

“I’m very fast,” I warned, but with some amusement knowing I wouldn’t be losing
their tail on purpose anytime soon. In fact, there was no need to protest at all as
I figured it was a good development having Jero and Brag assigned to me. This way,
they couldn’t tell me to vrekk off when I tried to help the investigation by
combining forces…under the parameters I was willing to work under, or course. I was
so not signing up for a military stint and living in the barracks.

Not that I had complete confidence in my abilities to save the city. In fact, I had
very little. Also, I was feeling a tad nervous with the last two days becoming a
bit of an exposé on Trick. But keep on, carry on, right? All I knew is that if I
didn’t do something now, chances were I was going to ostrich myself like I’d been
doing the last two rotations. And if Rescoven was right and change was coming, I
needed to act. Not to mention the need to fulfill the moral obligation I felt, as
well.

Ignoring my last comment, Durath said, “I’m speaking to the Lord soon.” He met my
eyes and conveyed the gravity of those few words. “Don’t lose my men and be
available when we need you. You said you wanted to help, so…behave,” he said, as if
he already guessed my natural inclination to find trouble. With a knowing look, he
turned and left.

“I’m not reckless,” I protested needlessly, as he had already begun to march, or

attack, the steps leading upward.

Quickly, he was out of view.

“You’re. A. Girl?” Jero’s voice sounded behind me.

“Fully mature, here,” I said. Turning around I spied his arms as well as Brag’s
were crossed.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jero asked.

I shrugged, not at all surprised that that was what a male citizen of TreValla
would focus on. Pretty pointless, their shock. But it followed what I observed from
my time on Haell.

“It’s not right, you being out unprotected,” Braghen said, with a scowl. “You
should be home and safe.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Brag, we’re her protection now. Didn’t you hear the CM?” Jero asked pointedly.

“Yes, I agree then.” He nodded firmly.

“Can we go? I don’t like it down here,” I said, with a pronounced shiver. Sure, the
ichor from Splat’s body was still fresh on my mind, however, I just wanted to get
moving, change the subject. Me being a female wasn’t a big deal. Didn’t want to
make it one.

With a look, Jero started ahead. I waited for Braghen next, but he gestured for me
to start. Whatever. As we ascended crisscross up the dark stone shaft, I broke
through their quiet, mulish, male contemplation with another shocker by saying,
“Durath offered me a position on the Line. Honestly, though I refused, he surprised
me with his progressive attitude. Does Lord Theros share that same belief in
equality between genders? Are there other females working for him on the Line?”

“Gender is and always will be unequal. Females are cherished and are held in higher
esteem than males. As it should be,” Braghen said, supplying me with an answer from
the back. “You should be protected and kept indoors.”

Jero had spluttered a moment ago but seemed to have gotten over the initial shake-
up by pointing out, “It must be the robes. No female works directly on the line
with males. But being that you are, you know, different, I bet he sees it as a way
to provide for the…unfortunate.”

I snorted.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Jero defended himself. “You’re not just one of the
rejected to us,” he stammered.

“No worries,” I said, with a smile. “I know what you mean. Cursed and blessed at
the same time. But could it possibly be that my language skills are of use, as
well?”

“Yes and no,” Brag said.

“Well, that offers clarity.”

“What he means is that the Line has interpreters. At least those that know the
basic languages. Brag and I have never been high enough in rank to request their
services, but they’re available to other groups, higher members on the Line.”

“So why would Durath need me for Ath’Vela translation? That’s a pretty easy one in
my eyes.”

“Well, the male is a reject,” Jero said. Braghen grunted in irritation behind me.
“I mean, he’s different.”

“Okay, how?”

Brag spoke up. “Jero fails to realize that the only reject here is his ugly face.
And the male we need to question is deaf and mute.”

Ignoring Jero’s protestations on his ugliness, which wasn’t the case, he was
actually a very attractive Falk, I snickered, but otherwise disregarded the ribbing
directed towards each other, and then stated, “So this guy must also be
illiterate?” There was no condemnation in my tone. I was just connecting the dots.

“Yes, he didn’t respond to reading questions. He wasn’t able to write either,” Brag
said.

“So, how can I help?”

We reached the top of the stairs. “What Brag’s dumb draven ass is getting to is
that the guy uses his hands a lot, signing.”
Before I could say anything, we exited the building pausing a moment and then ran
through the tinted purple downpour. No one bothered to talk being that the rains
were beating down with a slanted ferocity that hammered the alleyways and paths in
the compound. Pulling up my robe to free my feet from the overfilling gutter
system, I dodged small but bloated, sweeping little rivers and followed Jero with a
grin on my face.

I learned about Haellish sign language around a rotation ago. Supposedly, it was
only created for those with four fingers, as the K’Vroken and Sahven hands had five
digits and of course they were both perfect and would never find themselves with
one less finger or without a voice. I just hoped I could be understood. It was a
challenge I was looking forward to.

Until I realized I’d have to reveal my hands. Frack.

We reached a slender, three story structure near one side of the perimeter wall.
Jero jarringly yanked the door open and gestured for me to enter. I ran in. Soaking
wet, the two followed, Jero cutting off Braghen as he tried to enter immediately
after me. He snickered. Braghen pushed him once and Jero stumbled onto a reception
desk.

An unamused male glared at Jero and looked up at Braghen. “Yes?”

“Detectives Braghen and Jero here to interview patient twelve, CM’s orders,”
Braghen said, ignoring Jero’s dirty look.

With a raised brow, the clerk took a small square of parchment, wrote a few words
on it, and activated a stored, one-time use spell. The paper folded in half and
fluttered clumsily off down a corridor. “You may take a seat,” he indicated.

We all backed up a step but kept standing, dripping slightly.

“Trick,” Brag said, nodding his head toward a wooden bench to have me sit. I waved
him off. His mouth turned downward as Jero snorted at his friend’s displeasure with
me not taking the break I must have badly needed being a frail female and all.

Minutes passed.

Hearing footsteps coming down, a male wearing deep indigo robes entered from a set
of stairs somewhere from the back. If it wasn’t for my shadowed face, everyone
would have witnessed my shocked expression. The man had the gray skin of a Falk,
but also had black hair long enough to reach his jawline. Even his brows had hair.
His eyes were not the typical silver, either, but a dark gray sclera with black
irises. I looked down. Four fingers. He was multiracial. Probably a child from one
of the harems of multi-raced women that were kept by a few Sahven, being that their
reproduction capabilities were becoming a problem as of late, as in the last five
hundred turns. Or so I had read.

“Patient twelve is very agitated and I will allow only one person up to question
him, in my presence only.” He peered at the men, then me. I felt the mahdra
swirling around him. Not near as much as Durath, but I was betting his mahdra
focused specifically on healing talent, not so much brute mahdra strength.

Jero spoke up. “We are tasked to protect her, CM’s orders. One of us will have to
accompany her.”

The healer gave me a look flaring his nostrils, perhaps verifying if I was indeed
female. “You can speak to Master Durath if you like, but if she is the interpreter,
then I will allow only her upstairs with me. Your choice. The patient is awake now,
however, and I will not disturb him if he falls asleep if you wish to wait on CM’s
clarification.” He waited, resting his hands calmly in front of him. Funny how I
got no ill will from him headed my direction. He seemed to disregard the reject
robes.

“We will trust your word, Soreth,” Braghen said beside me, with a nod.

The male, Soreth, dipped his chin. “Follow me, then.” He turned and led the way
down the hall. I shadowed him, my robe dripping here and there. Ascending a back
stairway, we reached the third floor coming out to a clean, brightly lit, white
hallway. Leading me to a door halfway down to our right, Soreth met my eyes, or
where my eyes would normally be through the hood. “If you can, please get his name
and ask him if there is anything I can do for him. I have,” he paused and
straightened his posture, “I have scanned him for injuries and have done what I can
to ease his mind. However, he seems very agitated.”

I nodded. Soreth didn’t even question my ability to understand his patient. He

seemed to have complete faith in me—or the CM for sending me here. Now if only I
could calm down and have some faith in myself.

But that wasn’t really my problem.

Soreth headed in. A male immediately sat upright in a narrow bed having seen me
standing in the doorway. Hesitating on my part, a few moments ticked by. Soreth
seeing this, held up a finger to the patient in a universal sign of just one moment
and headed back out to the hallway for me.

“I apologize,” he said. “You have permission to reveal your hands in front of me. I
do not hold the same views as those in my family. I am a healer and will not say a
word regarding any deformities you may have. Please feel comfortable here, and free
from judgment.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. But even so, had to go further. “I’d like to enter
into a healer contract with you to guarantee your silence on the matter.” I waited.
It was the Haell equivalent of doctor-patient privilege, something I figured was
not formally enacted unless he was working with high-ranking individuals.

Contemplative, Soreth tilted his head. “Very well. What is your name, then?”

“Trick,” I said, still eyeing him a bit warily.

He paused. “No clan? Surname?”

“Just Trick,” I responded, judging his countenance. The doc was professional.
Taking in other details, he wasn’t young, but more middle-aged…which could mean
seventy to a hundred and fifty Haell rotations. If I were to be honest, he was
handsome by Haell’s standards. But handsome faces were some of the best liars of
all, I’d come to figure out. I wasn’t going to trust him unless I had it in mahdra.

I almost snorted in humor at the situation. No wonder Rescoven had to force me into
a pledge. That was the only way for me to trust him completely. The others I had
met recently? Well, they were earning my trust through their actions and my common
sense and intuition. Even then, they’d only seen my robe. Not my hands. Sure as
hell not my face.

“Very well.” He held his palms out and up. Closing his eyes, as the rite required,
it signified his trust in me, mirroring the trust I was going to give him. No skin
contact necessary. Small, modestly powered words filled the air between us. “Trick,
do you place your faith in the healer’s code of conduct?” He cracked his eyes.
“Yes.” I waved him on when he didn’t continue. I knew the gist of what needed to be
said. It didn’t require a set verbal spell, per se, just a few acknowledgments of
the basics. Other healer spells for patients with higher status were probably more
embellished.

He looked at me curiously, but then shut his eyelids once again. “Then I vow to
uphold the healer’s code and offer you my services to the best of my skill,
regardless of your ability to pay. Do you accept the conditions?”

The pay thing was out of the ordinary, but I answered, “Yes.”

“Do you accept me as your healer?”

Not that I needed one, but—“Yes,” I said.

He nodded, opening his eyes. There was a pause between us as the humble power faded
in completion. Clearly, it was go time. I just had to be okay with showing my hands
in front of the Ath’Vela now, sans a verbal or written contract with him. Hopefully
his unique situation would offer some protection towards my anonymity.

Rolling up my sleeves, I felt the obscurity spell naturally turn off as I got well
past my elbows. I heard Soreth’s reaction behind me through an intake of breath,
but I didn’t see it as I began walking into the small, narrow room. I knew what he
saw: five Sahven-like fingers. And if I were still on Haven, it would have been
pale skin. Nowadays, my skin tone always had a sun-kissed hue.

Go figure.

Breathing deep I began signing, trying to ignore using my pinky finger and sticking
to the illustrations I had studied a rotation ago. Perking up, the male began
quickly moving his hands and even made a few unintelligible noises from his throat
in excitement, his dark, red eyes glittering. As was typical with Ath’Vela, the
patient’s skin was a dusky rose color, while his body was extremely slender having
narrower hips than mine on a frame that still neared seven feet. We began talking
back and forth rapidly, his very long articulated fingers doing a better job of it
than I was. Passing information between us, we exchanged signs for a few minutes as
I adjusted my movements and eventually caught on well enough to feel more
comfortable.

Adolla, which was his name, controlled much of the conversation in the beginning as
he was frantic about his family and their whereabouts. I stopped and relayed as
much as I could to Soreth, even asking Adolla about his health. Soreth produced a
piece of parchment and began writing things down, promising to look into his
family. Adolla didn’t have kids even though he was an adult, but he was adamant
that he be brought back to his parents. He was the one who provided care for them.

Finally, I got to question him further regarding the abduction. He remembered very
little other than incantations that seemingly originated from disembodied voices,
disorientation, then blurred, interrupted images that confused him. He had woken up
in a packed crate full of other abductees experiencing extreme pain due to a
severely dislocated shoulder. Being that he was free to sign, Soreth must have
taken care of that injury last night. However, Adolla did mention a muddled memory
of a possible boat.

“Can you recall any characteristics of the vessel? Shape, cultural designs?” I
signed.

He shook his head, his small rounded ears twitching. “No. It was very dark. At
times I could have sworn the wood was black, though. But I am not certain.”

Well, that was something. Blackwood? “What about size? Was it small? Large?”

“Neither. Just an average size, I think. The cargo area in the hull was my only
glimpse of it.” He was squinting, trying to remember. “It also had a large door on
the side for its shipload.”

Continuing our conversation a little while longer, soon it seemed as though his
energy was lagging, his brow ridges having furrowed in what looked like pain.
Asking him once more about his health, his skin turned red at the neck, shoulders,
and upper chest. Being that Ath’Vela people were a pinkish tone to begin with, I
wondered what this meant. Also, even though Ath’Vela were known to be slim, he
seemed shockingly frail for his height. Emaciated, even.

I clenched my teeth before I could curse in anger.

Once more, I asked if he needed anything from the healers here. He nodded, but
didn’t sign. “Soreth here wants to help you. Please, I can relay what you need.”

Adolla’s neck was still red. He averted his eyes a bit to the side, but began
signing again. “My head hurts and my eyes are very sensitive to light. Also,” his
long fingers paused, “I am very…backed up.”

Oh. Oh. It was embarrassment. Though he had no need to be embarrassed in front of

me being that I had been cosmically constipated for years. I quickly delivered his
medical information to Soreth and translated a few more questions originating from
the healer. Eventually, I was no longer needed as the patient began to get more
drowsy. Rolling my sleeves down, I headed out to the hallway. Quickly, while the
healer was occupied with Adolla in the room, I led myself down the stairwell and
joined up with Jero and Braghen below.

Despite being a bit of a jokester, Jero’s shoulders eased as soon as he saw me.
Braghen, in his usual arms-crossed pose, asked, “Are you well?”

I smiled. “Yes, I’m fine.” He nodded as if that was what he predicted, but needed
to hear it from me all the same.

“Well?” Jero asked, expectantly.

“He didn’t remember much, but, is there somewhere else we can talk?” Particularly
away from the healer. I had a feeling I pulled a fast one on him and he normally
wasn’t used to being avoided. Not that he was a bad guy. I just didn’t owe him any
answers to any questions he might have. Especially about my fingers and what that
meant.

“Follow me,” Braghen said, heading for the door.

Traipsing behind, once again we started up a jogging pace through the rain. Well,
they were jogging, I was running down a few flights of stone steps, past the
torrential overflowing gutters above and at our feet. Eventually, we made it to the
main plaza level and entered under a low clearance header into a sizable room under
an extended veranda. Long, bench-lined tables filled up a deceptively large space
within, supported by roughly hewn maroon log columns. It was a space that had been
well hidden from the front, but went deep into the mountain once you explored
further.

Peering around, it was quite the spacious cafeteria. By the look of it, many males
were seated already with trays before them. Rich, warm scents of freshly cooked
food lingered in the air as I gazed about.

Having just come from the deluge outside, I was caught off guard by the fantastic
sloping drainage system they had. I peered back and noticed the grade of the plaza
must have been perfectly designed as all the extra water was being sloughed off
expertly to the side and out through strategically placed grates. What was to be
considered a basement mess hall, a place I would think would be prone to flooding,
was completely dry and quite cozy with the three massive stone fireplaces lighting
up all, but one wall. That wall, or kitchen, took up the entire length of one side
of the room. Men were lined up waiting for food at the counter there.

“Did you hear me?” Jero asked as Braghen guided us to a secluded back corner, dimly
lit by firelight.

“Sorry, no. What did you say?”

He grinned. “Welcome to the commons. What do you want to eat?”

“Oh, I don’t need anything. Thank you.”

“You are the size of a baby makuula,” Braghen said. “You need to eat something.”

I laughed thinking of Krule and his hatred for the beasts. “Okay, you’re
exaggerating, and, fine. I don’t care, though. You choose.”

Braghen looked me over and scowled. “Meat. You need meat.”

“I’m not going to wither away and die, here. I’m a full grown adult and healthy.” I
heard a snort of disbelief as I reached into my pockets. “But I’ll eat. How much?”
I asked, finally finding the pouch of coin Rescoven had given me and sliding open
the top of the sack. “Also, do I stand in line with you? Or is that against the
rules?” I wasn’t a Black Line member. In addition, I was shrouded in my reject
robe. Figured those two things would be an issue.

“Sit,” Braghen said, indicating the dark bench. Jero had already plopped down. “No
money is required. With our higher rank, we are allowed to feed anyone helping with
a case.”

I shrugged. “Okay. Cool, and thanks.” He walked off intent on using a new perk. I
went to the bench opposite Jero and sat.

Some time passed.

Staying quiet, knowing Jero was building up to something, I gazed around and tried
to identify what type of food was being served today. I couldn’t quite find a
reference to what I was seeing. Rescoven’s library was light on culinary reading
materials. Something I didn’t know if I cared to rectify. I kind of preferred more,
aggressive reading material.

K’Vroken reading material.

Jero was leaning on his elbows peering at me speculatively. “You know, it’s a bit
weird talking to you with that hood on. I like being able to see who I’m talking
to. You don’t have to be ashamed.”

I smirked. “We weren’t really talking just now,” I pointed out. “And ashamed of
what?”

“Of your disability. It’s obvious.”

“And what’s my disability?”

He squinted his eyes and made his thumb and forefinger on his right hand come
together with an inch of space to spare. “You’re this big.”

I laughed. “Shut up—my height is perfectly normal, thank you very much.”

“Just saying. Everyone can tell you’re vertically challenged if you say you’re
‘full grown’. No need to hide that in robes.”

“Whatever. What about you? You’re slightly shorter than most Falk we come across.
Does that make you challenged?” I teased.

He smugly checked out his nails from different angles. “Not at all. Makes me stand
out. When I am with a female, we are eye to eye. It’s all very sensual.”

I made a purposeful gagging noise. “Too much information. Also, are you always this
conceited?”

“Is it conceit or truth?” He wagged his brows at me flirtatiously, stuck out his
chest and then began to flex an arm.

“Uhhhh,” I began, “Stupidity?” But I couldn’t help the huge smile on my face.

A tray slammed on the table. “It’s draven shivit, that’s what it is. Leave her
alone.”

Jero laughed. “It’s fun. We never get to be around females unless it’s a chaperoned
event or a contracted meeting.”

“She’s a baby.”

I held up my hands. “Whoa there, big guy, not a baby makuula here, remember? Also,
I agree. I think Jero is full of shivit, too.” Braghen cracked a smile and sat.
Grabbing two sandwiches from a heaping tray of food, he shoved one at Jero’s chest,
took one for himself, and then pushed the tray in my direction.

“Uh, this all for me?” There were piles of unknown meat, meat sandwiches, and what
looked like meat purée? Yikes.

“Eat,” Jero said around his food. “It will soothe Brag, here. I’ll finish whatever
you can’t.”

“No. She needs it all.”

I blew out a breath from my cheeks. “I’ll do my best,” I said, unconvinced I could
handle even a quarter of it. It did not smell like the meat from last night.
Picking around brown chucks here and there, I soon found a roll under the sandwich.
“Now, this is delicious.” Happily, I chewed on and began to recount my conversation
with Adolla. They peppered me with questions throughout. Near the end of relaying
everything I learned, I said, “Honestly, he was pretty low level on the mahdra
scale. Barely anything. He said he was an artist and his only talent was changing
the hue of his paints to best suit the picture he had in his mind. I wonder if
somehow they did something to him while he was unconscious? I mean, since mahdra is
the only commonality between them, they could have done something to him and maybe
his ability, right?”

“Possibly,” Jero agreed, Braghen nodding.

“The boat is important though if we go with the assumption that it is blackwood,
that is. If not, well then we’re still at square one.”

Braghen had finished his food and was now eyeing mine along with Jero. I pushed the
tray back over to their side. Braghen snatched it. He didn’t balk and dug in. It
surprised me he didn’t think I had tainted it. “You were supposed to use the bread
to dip in the protein paste,” he garbled.

“Oh. I didn’t know,” I said, absolutely sure I would never be eating that sludge as
it reminded me of the protein we were fed as clones.

“No matter,” he said, with a shrug. “The boat needs to be found. If Adolla
suspected blackwood, then that will set it apart, at least giving us something to
keep an eye out for. Blackwood is uncommon and extremely expensive since it holds
mahdra so well.”

Blackwood was all over Vahlta Hall and its apartments. But I didn’t say that. I
nodded.

Braghen belched unexpectedly, but then looked over at me and shyly apologized. I
waved it off.

“So you or me?”Jero asked him. “CM likes you more, it seems.”

Brag nodded. “I’ll go and inform him of what we learned. Stay here.”

As Braghen headed off to go find Master Durath, Jero began eating the remaining
leftovers. Suddenly, he stopped and lifted his head, still partially chewing. “Oh
yeah, I forgot something,” he said, digging out a small paperbound book from his
pant cargo pocket. Immediately, my interest was piqued. “We found this on one of
the dead bodies,” he said. “A Black Line member named Previn,” he emphasized the
name with some disdain, “claimed it was gibberish. I figured if we could find the
little polyglop—”

“Polyglot,” I distractedly interjected, the book receiving most of my attention.

“Polyglot from earlier, you may be able to make some sense out of it.” He handed it
over nonchalantly while biting into a roll smeared with paste from my platter.

Excitedly, I took it from him and then immediately sucked in an amazed breath.
Scanning the words written on the spine, I quickly opened it. Reading with the pads
of my fingers, reverently even, I flipped through the pages and then went back to
the beginning. Eventually, I began to piece it together finding the similarities
and meanings of the words.

Keviks ticked on by.

Not having looked up for a while, I heard Jero clear his throat. “So, does it have
anything to do with the kidnappings?”

“What?” I glanced up. “Oh, no. Sorry. But, what you found here isn’t gibberish—it’s
a written form of Xyclanov! From what I’ve studied, they don’t have an alphabet.
This here is an amalgamation of their phonetic spoken word with written TreValla
Common. It’s—I can’t even describe it. It’s curious and absolutely amazing.” I
hurried and read on, the silence of my studying stretching out the minutes. Jero
wasn’t forgotten though. “Sorry, I’m just trying to lock in the special
characterizations and hybridized verbiage. I think I’m getting it, though.”
Jero, looking a bit left out, managed to give me a dubious look, though his heart
wasn’t in it. “That fast?” he asked, with a small smile.

“It’s ingenious but simple,” I said flipping and scanning the pages. “The
grammatical structures are congruent with Common, yet the speech sounds of the
Xyclanov people are written here, as well. Linguistically, this is a huge leap for
the clans being that their history is solely told by crones verbally and passed
down...” I trailed off. I realized Jero really wasn’t catching on to my enthusiasm.
“Sorry,” I said, again. “Do you want me to read it to you? I’m amazed that it’s
even in print. There must be a demand for it, which in turn indicates people are
reading similar books out there. Someone who did this must have been truly
focused.”

“Someone like you?”

“Ha,” I smiled, “I just like to study other people’s genius and celebrate their
work. Anyway, you want me to read aloud?”

“Sure, whatever.” He waved his hand and propped the other under his chin, no doubt
disappointed the book wasn’t helpful to the investigation.

I smirked and began reading where I left off.

Jero’s jaw immediately dropped.

Twenty minutes later, the short work was nearly finished. Given the extraordinary
discovery that this particular book was, I had slowed down some—ahem, a lot—and
read with passion since I had an audience.

“She moaned and said my name as I slid my hand up her skirt. Even now, I couldn’t
help noticing our differences. Her ivory, unblemished skin blossomed in sensitivity
as my blue, calloused hand reached higher and higher. Her perfect chest, begging to
be released from her bodice, pressed on mine as my other hand curled around her
luxurious hair, like a chala sea serpent wrapping around its mate. My throbbing
spear—”

“Just what is this?”

I squeaked and looked up. Durath was standing there.

“We just got to the good part!” Jero protested, but quickly realized it was the CM
and shut up. Looking around, it seemed that my audience had grown. More males had
moved closer, but now faced with the Court Master’s shock, couldn’t meet his eyes
and pretended their seating arrangements had nothing to do with storytime.

I snorted.

Durath glared at me, then down at Jero. “You did this.”

Jero put his hands out in surrender. “I thought it was pertinent to the
investigation. I was unaware of the actual content,” he said weakly, looking down.

“And I guess you were completely unaware when you let her continue to read smut in
the middle of the COMMONS!”

“If I may interject here, this book could very likely be a first of its kind, as
far as I know, and linguistically—”
Durath grabbed the book. “It’s inappropriate trash, Trick. If my—the Keeper found
out about this—”

“Okay, first of all,” I said, touching my heart dramatically, mockingly with one
hand, “It’s a romance between a lowly Xyclanov clam farmer and a Sahven daughter
who was just trying to feel something in her meaningless, spoiled life. Second,” I
said, getting serious, “Keeper Rescoven will see the genius of what it truly is,
despite the content. In fact, I want it back. I’m going to gift it to him. It’s a
linguistic anomaly, possibly signifying an entire cultural shift into the realm of
the written word.”

He looked at the book, then at me like I was crazy.

“Uh, technically, it’s evidence,” Jero supplied, his humor not entirely cowed by
the Court Master’s presence. I glared at him. He smiled gamely back. Off to the
side, Braghen looked appalled that Jero had introduced something so debasing and
dirty to a baby makuula like myself that I wouldn’t have doubted that he was about
to throw a punch aimed at Jero’s face.

But just then, none of it mattered. A sweeping curtain of mahdra fell over the
group, hushed everyone’s disputations, and sent the entire remaining audience off
to go clear their trays leaving just us four.

Master Durath’s back went ramrod straight.

“What is this evidence that you speak of?”

Great.

He walked up exuding power and insouciance. His symmetrical face, long raven hair,
and black monolithic eyes pierced us all, particularly me. His gathered energy
flicked and snapped at me like a viper.

It was putting me in a foul mood.

Grabbing the book from Durath, he flipped casually through the pages. “You say this
is important?”

Grudgingly, I nodded.

He pocketed it. I clenched my teeth. My first meeting with a Sahven, and all I
could think of was that he had my book.

“Follow me, Trick,” Lord Theros commanded.

Chapter fourteen

Isat there, forgotten, in a corner. All I needed was a dunce cap.

It must have been an hour or more since I had reluctantly accompanied Lord Theros
up to this office, or whatever purpose the room served. Currently, I was on the
fifth floor of the tallest structure in the compound, the one that shared its far
wall with the mountain. I assumed we had utilized some sort of back stairwell for
the help because by no means did he lead me through any stately rooms or libraries
within his personal residence.

Nope. As soon as we got to the office, a sneering staff member greeted him with
cloying reverence, then me with disdain.

Same old.

Left alone, I teetered back on the stool that had been provided for me near the
tall double doors, balancing on two legs instead of four. I was getting pretty good
at it. The room was designed with polished stone everywhere: floor, columns, walls,
his desk. All black and white themed. The floor, an intricate design of white
squares and black circles, gave me the sense of a posh Dalmatian. Personally, I
found it a bit distracting and borderline fun house. But to each their own, I
guessed.

I crashed down, breaking one of the stool’s legs, the sound echoing in the
highfalutin space.

Well, trick.

Across the long room, the door next to Lord Theros’s massive desk cracked open with
a hushed click. A curse slipped out of my mouth as I moved hastily, launching off
my backside whilst scampering to find the broken bits, snatching them up
immediately from where they fell. Leaning the wooden stool next to the wall, I
matched up the leg back into the split of the wood. There. It held. And it looked
perfect. Well, good enough, I supposed.

Quickly, I summoned a stately composure, which was just as misleading as the

stool’s appearance.

Thankful for whatever distraction happened in his private room to create the pause
I had needed to right the stool, Lord Theros walked out of the door and manually
closed it behind him as his eyes surveyed my presence. Weird that he didn’t have a
servant doing the opening and shutting of accesses for him. He seemed the type.

Geez, look at me. Judgmental much?

“I’ve been informed that you do not wish to work for me,” he said in Common, as he
had earlier.

Waiting, I just stood there centered near the main entryway, hands demurely clasped
in front of me and shoulders back. He stared at me with his obsidian black eyes as
he leaned his body casually on the front of his desk, arms crossed. His innate
power was just as annoying as I remembered. Not that he was doing anything
consciously, but his signature power leaked and whipped around as if bored.

And no, he was not the author of the spell from last night. I could tell.

He raised an eyebrow. It was getting awkward. “You have nothing to say?” he asked,
his diction slow and precise in its privilege.

“Oh, was that supposed to be a question?” I asked honestly, no sarcasm, though it

lingered near the surface of my facade. The whole keeping me in a room for an hour
was off-putting and I figured he was going to follow up his statement with more
words as he probably liked his own voice. “Um yeah, I don’t need a job, but thank
you for the offer.”

“Most in your position wouldn’t refuse the chance to work on the Black Line,” he
said, pausing, “but Court Master Durath explained your unique talents—said you are
currently in residence at Vahlta Hall under the tutelage of Keeper Rescoven.”

He knew all of this and more, I could tell. It was the way he held himself, a huge
lie of casual grace, dignified elegance, and untouchable detachment. Yep, he was
fishing, using this elegant pretense as if I didn’t know he was the sharpest of
swords, ready to run me in without hesitation. If I wasn’t careful he’d barely move
and my innards would be lying on his glaring floor, seeping it in red before I
could even register a pain response. I knew what I probably had to do: I needed to
assume he knew everything, but give away nothing. Even if CM Durath had told him
everything, no doubt he did considering he basically warned me of doing so, I had
to play coy. The floor may have had circles on it, but Lord Theros clearly was
treating it like a human’s chessboard.

Turned out, however, I didn’t want to play. “I like languages. We have a lot in
common, us two.” I nodded, this time crossing my hands behind my back and rolling
my weight to the front of my toes and back.

“Interesting. Most would admit to having very little in common with the old book
Keeper as his temper is notorious in scholarly circles, and his, proclivities run
the way of superstition and pathetic belief.”

I paused. Tilted my head. “Is this you goading me?” I wish Haell had chewing gum
here as I’d be smacking away trying to irritate the man in front of me, just to
reciprocate.

Lord Theros was quiet for a moment. If I took him off guard he didn’t show it.
“Just stating a fact.” His long black hair framed a shockingly symmetrical face of
predatory beauty, his alien black eyes savage and anatomically unblinking, his
jawline sharp, his lips just as white as his skin as if all the blood had been
drained from him. Of course he had alien blood so having red lips was out of
context here, but the effect of seeing such pale features was a bit mesmerizing. Or
perhaps it was just because I’d only ever seen a Sahven depicted in books before.
This one here seemed big, like Durath big, just not as muscular.

Whatever. Lord Theros may have been wearing the same uniform as every other Black
Line member, but I had to keep in mind he was a serpent underneath. And what do you
not do with serpents? Poke them for one. Antagonize. Future oops warning…

“On what most believe? How is this relevant? You’ve used that word twice now, most.
Is this a roundabout way of getting to the point that I’m unlike most people? Sure.
I’m different. Is that what you want to talk about?”

If the Sisters hadn’t upgraded my eyesight, I would have missed the minutest upturn
to the corner of his mouth. It was gone before I could focus on what that meant.

“Yes,” he said.

“Okay,” I said, my arms splaying out as a sign for him to proceed.

“Court Master Durath states you do not need direct contact to gauge and feel
another’s ability. You can even read dissolving spell work. Is that correct?”

“Pretty much, yes,” I said, hedging a bit since he didn’t mention the part with me
shaking Durath’s hand and accidentally bumping his mahdra level up in the process.
Maybe the CM really didn’t tell him everything.

Interesting.
“And you can feel beyond the gathered mahdra itself? You can glean the
practitioner’s signature underneath it all?”

“It’s more woven through, if that makes sense. But, yes.”

“What do I feel like to you?” he asked nonchalantly, though it was a loaded

question. Anyone who could do what I could was a threat to him.

I snorted.

“Is there something humorous?” he politely asked.

“Well, not really…so that’s basically a yes for me. Do you want me to be honest?”

His head tilted a fraction, like a raptor staring me down. “By all means,” he said.
It could have meant: proceed with caution if you know what’s good for you.

“Okay. You feel like a pain in the ass.”

Big poke.

This time I managed to get a larger reaction. His brows rose and his arms unfolded
placing his hands on the desk on which his backside leaned.

I kept going, “You’re ridiculously powerful and the mahdra you probably don’t even
realize you’ve stored, is whipping around like a couple of damn Krell balls wanting
to trip someone up. It wants to be used and is bored waiting. That’s how you feel.
It’s annoying.” There. Almost should wipe my hands in completion on that one.
Compliments and insults all in one. Wasn’t going to wax poetic about the particular
bouquet that was Lord Theros, as it was more than just annoying and had many layers
to it. No need to make my now precarious position go off on the awkward scale, too.

Also, I was realizing precarious was fun. Like roof jumping.

He stood straight. “Perhaps I should use it then—my power? Since it is…bored.” He

smiled slightly which didn’t go into his eyes.

I knew it was a threat, but at this point I was enjoying my reckless self. And if I
was being honest, my downright scary Sisterly intuition was at play. Lord Theros
wasn’t going to off me anytime soon. No, I couldn’t really read intentions, but I
felt relatively safe. Lord Theros wasn’t my enemy.

“That’d be cool,” I said. His mouth opened slightly as if to say something, but
stopped short. At a loss, I guess. “I accidentally broke your stool over there. Can
you fix it?” I gestured behind me.

Another pause. “You cannot?”

He already knew the answer.

“No. I know nothing about the study of mahdra…and I don’t wish to learn.”

He crossed his arms again, seemingly coming to a conclusion. “There are rumors
flying around as of late, of a large energy blast a couple of rotations ago. Would
you happen to know anything about that?”

“Only that Keeper Rescoven hinted at the same thing. He seems to think the
abductions are an act of a few desperate higher-ups, a calculated power grab in
response to feeling the enormous eruption. That is, of course, if they are not the
ones responsible themselves for the blast.”

His eyes never wavered off my shrouded visage. “You are aware that having a triple
ability has never been documented before? Some can identify spell-castors and
spelled objects by touch, even less can feel working incantations in the air and
adjust accordingly. But no one can do all that and then identify someone’s specific
mahdra as you admittedly can, casually and without care from spans away. It would
take someone with an enormous amount of skill and mahdra awareness to do so. Not to
mention decades of study.” He stood up and walked the few steps down from the
elevated section of his desk area and stood in front of me, blocking my view of the
massive window displaying the turbulent sky behind him. “Tell me, how is it that I
cannot feel your energy swirling about, causing trouble?—because most likely it
would be pestilential.”

“I—I thought…wait, you can feel my energy signature?”

“No,” he said, clenching his teeth. “As I said, that is unheard of. But I can
usually get a feeling of mahdra in the air, active spells, and you haven’t added
anything of that ilk at all to this conversation.” Looked like the siphoning off
was working, that, and sleeping in a living library that ate energy. “I wonder,
what obfuscation spells other than the obvious are you enacting?”

“None, that I’m aware of,” I said, honestly. There was a chance that me constantly
bearing down and clenching all the energy inward was in essence mahdra manipulation
done subconsciously, but, whatever. The results were what mattered. The last thing
I needed to do was dissect something within me that was working and break it in my
curiosity-seeking process. I was weird, not dumb.

“Tell me, can you read the intent of a spell?” Mahdra began to gather, whirling
about us, raising the hair at the back of my neck. Trick. “Can you tell what I am
planning?”

“Uhhh,” I said, feeling something crawl up my body, fizzing my nerve endings. “I

don’t know what you’re trying to do.” My hands were up as if an actual viper were
sliding up my pant leg. Ew. I held very still. His energy felt like it was always
naturally cloaked to some extent. Like a varying degree of obfuscation weaved
through. “I hope you’re not about to kill me.”

“Can you not guess my intent since it is now actually on you? Students must learn
this early on.”

“I,” I paused and thought on it for a moment. “It feels, neutral. Not life
threatening. But…weird, too. Uncomfortable.” Considering it was now coiling over my
banded chest area, super uncomfortable. “Is it an impropriety spell?” I snorted.

“Jokes, even now? How about this?” In a motion too fast to record, suddenly the
mahdra swept up my head and hovered just above me. Waiting. I knew he was testing
me, seeing if I’d react in violence or cautiously in defense, figure out if I was
capable of mahdra manipulation of any conscious sort. This was his way to gauge if
I was lying. Problem was, I wasn’t.

Another problem, I was reading this spell even better.

I pointed above me. “This one feels bubbly,” I said, with an excited, short laugh
knowing I was flirting with bad consequences. “Do it. I want to see what it does.”

That took him back. For a moment.

Lord Theros’s left eyebrow ticked and then I instantly flew up thirty feet, butt
slamming into the ceiling with my head inches away from an enormous Vahlen
chandelier. The crystal began to sway as a fine layer of dust from the impacted
plaster slowly fell to the fine flooring.

“I really do think you incapable of handling mahdra,” he said, from below, his
voice actually hinting at disbelief. “No one’s natural defensive reactions are this
dull.”

I would have offered him a rebuttal by reminding him that I literally asked for it,
but I couldn’t. Laughing, tears sliding down my cheeks, my arms coiled around my
stomach in hilarity. “That…was…so much fun,” I managed to say. Taking a few deep
breaths, I pushed off from a piece of ornate trim with my toe. Slowly, my arms
coming out to guide the process, I floated across the ceiling like a—well, what do
you know—like a baby makuula.

As I was gaining composure and admiring the intricate molding from this particular
perspective, one of the large doors opened. The sneering personal assistant from
earlier entered.

“Yes, my Lord? Are you ready to begin your appointments?” He bowed humbly in front
of Lord Theros. Either I had missed him being called in while I was having my
moment, or the call had been mahdra based and I missed it as my normal keen senses
were otherwise occupied.

Keen. Ha.

“Remove that.” Lord Theros pointed to my former seat. “And wait for my direction,
as usual.”

Quickly, the assistant went into motion unaware of my eyes peering down from up
high. Walking over obsequiously, the thin male grabbed the stool obediently just as
the leg fell off and crashed onto the floor with a resounding wooden thwang…then
another and another as it bounced off into the middle of the room’s marble floor,
eventually coming to a stop. Soon, the room was deathly silent. Staring down at him
as if he were excrement on his shoe, Lord Theros remained wordless in icy disdain.

“What did you do?” I gasped in blame.

The assistant saw me now, hovering like a black angel of death. I swallowed a
laugh. Flushing darker as he scowled, he then scrambled to pick up the splintered
dowel that had broken off. Grasping the end, it slipped out of his hands. Thwang.
Crouching, he struggled to retrieve it, soon becoming successful. He snapped
upwards, snatched the main fallen stool, and let himself out as silently as
possible with a walk that suggested an invisible dowel could have also been rammed
up his—

The door shut.

Good times.

Moments passed. As no talking commenced, I eyed a section of ceiling that looked

like a giant glazed donut and was just about to swim over to see if Haell had their
own version of fried dough, one that they loved so much that they worshiped it via
plaster, when I felt eyes on me.

“I am willing to make you a consultant to the Black Line, as Court Master Durath
has stated you wish to help.” He was moving behind his desk. “I require a basic,
short-term contract to protect both of us. You have this option, or working and
residing here full-time. I am allowing you your autonomy given the fact that you
have a special skill that is of use to me, even though you are a liability to the
Line and the city should your skills be exploited by others. Especially if you are
discovered free from ties.”

“I have ties here.” Well, one person I could depend on for sure.

“The Keeper doesn’t count,” he stated.

“The Keeper could kick your butt in an obfuscation spell any day.”

He looked up. “Peculiar phrasing, but could he now? Perhaps you’ll realize that I
meant to have my energy blatantly out upon meeting you.”

Damn. He was probably right. Also, probably shouldn’t have let on to Resco’s true
abilities. But then again, my Keeper was biting at the bit as it was for world
domination, and now that I was here on Haell and not flinching away from him, even
more so. Most likely not a huge deal, my divulgence.

I shrugged. “How do we enact it?”

“Touch. I read you, you read me. We sign a simple contract that I’ve drafted for
this occasion.”

It’s not like he was asking for a Siron Pledge. Mind you, I was extremely wary. But
a reckless part of me wanted to see if I could hold back and control myself, see if
I could circumvent that newly discovered, uninvited, and automatic fine-tuning of
one’s mahdra level. I had been thinking about it all night. Obsessing about it and
wondering whom I could test it on. They would have to be a mahdra user. Resco was
out. He and I already had a power exchange and the more I paid attention to it, the
more his explanation last night made sense.

Durath was out, as well. He had been too agitated and pissed earlier that I didn’t
even bother asking for a redo handshake for the sake of experimentation. I didn’t
even bother to think of touching the Ath’Vela patient from the healer’s wing. He’d
been through hell and back. Soreth may have been a good choice, considering the
oath. But I had scampered out before I considered it for real. Lord Theros, well,
that’d be a whole other experiment. Like expecting to fly right out of the nest.

Thing was, I’ve always been very guarded and cautious, preferring to observe those
around me rather than actually participating. But if someone forced me to engage, I
was never actually shy, either. In fact, even in my clonie days I was never
considered a 'mouse'. I owned the shit I wanted to own. Asked the questions I
wanted to ask. Remained silent if that was my prerogative. And in some cases, was
reckless, just because it got my blood pumping.

Making up my mind, I felt confident in my choice. Needing to know with certainty

was better than worrying about the unknown. Here was the chance to experiment.

The Sahven lord waited patiently, eyeing me smoothly as if the robes were revealing
information to him.

“I would need to read the written contract first,” I said, with finality. Legal
bindings were no joke, yes, but they were a common reality here on Haell. All
across the races, contracts were how much got accomplished. Hell, I’d even asked
for a verbal one with the healer earlier.

“Of course.” He pulled out a parchment as I began to slowly lower from flight.

Lame.
Feet touching the floor nice and firmly, I walked a few disappointed steps over to
the paper, eyeing it with the realization that my fun was over. His intense eyes
never left me. I huffed and rolled mine.

“Something amuses you?”

“You’re testing me. Again.”

“I was told you were an interpreter for many languages, written and spoken. Was my
information incorrect?” he asked, casually.

“No. I can read this just fine, thank you,” I responded instantly, in perfectly
articulated Sahven.

I heard an intake of his breath, but at that point I was reading and not
particularly interested in his surprise. Obviously he had expected me to fail.
After scanning the document, I pulled out my lovely drongo quill and began to make
revisions to the contract in the same Sahven script as his. He could screw off if
he didn’t like my revising.

“A suitable quill has been provided,” he said, clearly mentioning the black one
placed plainly to the left of the parchment.

“That one sucks. I like mine.” We were now solely speaking in Sahven.

“You find the agreement lacking?” he asked showing no offense, just factoring
curiosity.

“I’m just clearing up some ambiguous parts. Clarity is a good thing.” I

straightened from my writing position and reread everything. It would do. Turning
to look up, I analyzed him. Could I do it? Could I hold back that power from
before? “I don’t get you,” I said, unexpectedly. He went still. “Aren’t you afraid
to touch me? Aren’t you revolted by my presence? For all you know, I could have
some communicable disease on me.”

Quiet for a moment, Lord Theros took the modified contract and answered me while
reviewing it. “I have differing views from those in the higher houses.” Not the
first time I heard something similar like that said today. “My aim is to provide
safety and unity for my compound and for TreValla, all of its citizens. Also, I
scanned you for contagions. You are disease free.”

“Wow. Enlightening and intrusive. Was that spell the pervy serpent feeling crawling
up my body?” He nodded regally as if he had done me a favor with his magic snake.

Getting my mind out of the gutter, I held out my hand and with my entirety, put
myself on lockdown. Time to do this. See if I could be in physical contact with
someone and not rock their world.

Funny, most of the greedy, narcissistic staff and management on Haven would have
wanted the opposite.

His obsidian eyes evaluated me shrewdly. He took my hand.

Electricity. It felt as though I was touching a live wire, both of us crackling

with energy, mine coiled and stifled, his overwhelming and a bit vicious, and both
wanting to combine and possibly reshape the planet. Through it all, however, I kept
it in check. I knew despite his staggering mahdra capability, I could increase the
well from which he drew. If I would just let down a wall, just a fraction, I could
reshape his power from its foundation.

It would be easy. Effortless. My body wanted to do it.

I pulled away. Even so, I was able to read a bit off of him regarding the contract,
though my inexperience made the attempt rather clumsy and weak. No matter,
considering I was able to catch a whiff of that at all while holding back the
floodgates of unlimited star power, I was considering it a win. Machiavellian
though he was, I felt his priority was the abductions. I could deal with that. That
was my purpose, as well.

“You’re hiding in there,” he said. His tone sounded different, thick, and possibly…
wary? His mouth was as close to agape as I figured a Sahven would allow before they
deemed the look ridiculous.

Hopefully he didn’t recognize my extra finger. I didn’t need him thinking I was
Sahven. “Did you conclude that I’m not a threat to you or your city? That I have no
ill will towards your organization and will not work directly or indirectly against
you?” I asked quickly. There was more to the contract including security measures,
my role as consultant, and what constituted the fulfillment of both his and my
contractual duties. There was also a mahdra equivalent to a non-disclosure
agreement going both ways, though limited in the aspects that still worked for me,
I made sure of it, and him, I presumed. The latter part was an acknowledgment that
I was not in any service agreement for any other party. I didn’t mention someone
was in service to me.

Probably didn’t even cross his mind, that one.

“You seem remarkably good at shielding. I read only as much as you wished me to
read.”

Oh yes, because that wasn’t pure luck, but painstakingly honed skill. Not. I
shrugged. “You agree to the terms then?” I asked, tilting my head toward the
waiting parchment.

He raised a brow but took the elegant quill from the desktop and signed. I waited,
then did the same with my own quill. If there was mahdra buzzing around from the
contract being completed, I wasn’t up to feeling it or distinguishing it amidst the
swirling turbulent energy in the room. In fact, every muscle in my body was tense
and I was still holding back. I needed to get back to the library.

Without waiting for dismissal, I took a few steps down the dais.

Walking away, quickly I turned back around towards the gargantuan desk. Without a
word, heart rate elevating, I met Lord Theros’s gaze as I stepped up and retrieved
the Xyclanov romance book that had been sitting on his desk the entire time I had
been waiting. Turning, I began my departure daring him to say something, stressed
that he may protest. I could feel his eyes burning my back as he watched every one
of my steps heading toward the door.

“Tomorrow you will meet me here for a few meetings with mahdra users you may or may
not be able to identify. My men will relay the time,” he said.

Releasing a held breath, I raised the book in the air so he knew I heard him. He
opened the right door with mahdra for me as I exited. It closed as soon as I
cleared the threshold.

Out of the office, I felt another, burning set of eyes on me.

“You will leave the manuscript here,” the assistant said, coming out from the
woodwork, immediately on my heels in a temper.

“No.” By saying nothing on the matter, Theros had given me his blessing.

Huffing, he continued. “And you will pay Lord Theros’s household for the broken
furniture.” He spouted off a ridiculous number.

“Your Lord can fix that chair in a second. I’m not paying for it. And if anyone
should be getting paid, it’s me. I wasted my time in that room before I met with
Lord Theros.” I made sure to address that in the contract. No needlessly sitting
around waiting on someone else’s schedule, within reason, of course. Being that he
signed the contract, he seemed fine with that amendment—that, and he probably
wanted to get a feel for my energy. Also, to make it clear, I didn’t want nor
expect compensation.

At the moment, I just wanted the worm currently following me, off my back.

We were at the rear stairwell. I began my descent. In a jarring move, the assistant
latched onto my hood with his grabby hands and yanked, nearly taking it off my
head. I pulled away just in time.

Turning, shocked, I asked, “Do you realize your foolish actions nearly violated a
contract that the Lord just entered with me? You would have reneged on his signed
words and he would be found in breach. Are you always this stupid, or are you just
acting out in spite because you got embarrassed earlier?” He sputtered. I put my
hand up. “You know, save it. The stool was destined for the dumpster and you
figured it was a perfect chair for a rejected one, am I right? I mean, I highly
doubt the Lord would have approved of that weathered looking pile of mold-infused
sticks to take up space in his perfectly coordinated office, do you? Why do you
think he asked you to remove it?”

“Because he was finished dealing with filth like you!”

“Yeah, maybe. Or he thought it was a piece of decaying, splintered shivit. I’m

betting the latter.” Strong bet too, considering the look of absolute contempt the
Lord had given him as he scrambled to pick up the broken pieces. Thing was, Theros
knew I had broken that chair. I had told him, for one. But it had only broken
because it was dilapidated from the beginning. When Lord Theros demanded the
assistant fetch me a chair when we had first entered, I didn’t miss the look of
calculated glee from the worm. I also didn’t miss the momentary look of sheer
distaste coming from Theros’s face when he saw the chair. He could’ve cared less if
it was broken. Fact was, he simply didn’t like that it was there. Period.

As the assistant began justifying his selection of seating, how I knew nothing of
the Lord, how I’ll regret speaking to him in such a rude manner, blah blah, I was
already walking downward. Perhaps if I wasn’t weary from trying to hold in world-
ending power at the moment, I’d make time to argue. But I felt that I didn’t care.

Funny, that out of most of the people I had come across so far, many were neutral
about my robes, and those that I was directly working with, more than accepting. It
was just a few of them that showed complete disdain. Out on the streets it had been
different. No one ever got close enough to give you a chance, even if they did have
progressive thoughts on those of the rejected.

Looking at my feet and preoccupied with my inner thoughts, I reached the bottom of
the stairs. The worm had given up and turned around at level two. A lone male in
uniform was waiting at the left of the hallway, tapping his foot. He had some form
of higher rank. “Sorry, I didn’t see you,” I said, giving room to him at the bottom
landing and walking near the wall.

“Know your place,” he barked out. And then he spat.

Instantly, I felt saliva hit my cheek through the hood and slide down. And here I
was praising my luck about only finding the good eggs. Whatever. Using my sleeve I
cleaned up and traced my steps back to the cafeteria. Braghen was there waiting,
fuming, it looked like. Jero was nowhere to be seen.

“You okay?” I asked. “You seem a bit peeved. Did you and Jero bicker about
something else?”

“Trick!” He exclaimed as he saw me and stood up. “Tell me Lord Theros didn’t
reassign you. Previn was just here stating that he was going to use you as a
permanent interpreter for his group.”

“Previn…” I paused recalling. “Snooty Falk with a pinched expression? Gold rank on
the collar?”

“Yes, that’s him,” he said. “He said he heard about the blessed reject. His words,
not mine. He is not someone you want to work with. He’s not even aware that your
female, either. He will not give you the protection—”

I held up my hand to stop him. “Relax, I won’t be working with him. But I think I
ran into him at the back stairway leading to Lord Theros’s offices. Would there be
a reason for him to have direct contact with the Lord?”

Braghen looked taken aback. “No one talks to the Lord apart from the CM. Previn
wouldn’t dare. There’s a hierarchy to follow. To break that would be highly
inappropriate and there would be repercussions to face in the ranks.”

“Huh, he must be meeting up with someone else on a different floor then,” I

surmised. “But why are you worried about me switching teams, anyway? Wouldn’t
Durath block Previn’s request?”

“The sniveling shivit seems to get whatever he wants. Sorry,” Braghen said in a
rush. “I don’t like him…and I don’t,” he lowered his voice, “trust him, either.”

“Well, he’s an ass for sure. But no matter. The contract I signed with Theros—”

“Lord Theros,” he mumbled, glancing around making sure my gaffe wasn’t overheard.

I cleared my throat and enunciated. “Theros,” I resumed, as he immediately face

palmed in mortification and fear of reprisal though no one was around. I laughed.
“Okay, fine. Lord Theros. The contract I entered with him, well I modified it to
clearly express who I would be working with regarding the Black Line. That includes
only four main people: the Lordliest of Lordly Lords Lord Theros, CM, and Jero and
you.”

Braghen’s hand remained on his face, though it had slid down some. “You changed a
contract that Lord Theros drafted himself?”

I shrugged.

He mumbled something unintelligible.

“Anyway, I’m headed out. Per the contract, only one of you is responsible for
walking me home. But I don’t really need you to, so if you just want to say you did
—”
“I am walking you home,” he said, firmly.

“Righto,” I said, with a nod. “Hey, I got the book back. Want me to read the ending
aloud to you whilst we travel yonder?” I bobbed my brows and tilted my head out to
the plaza, enjoying not having to hide my smirk. The robe came in handy.

His face went dark green around the cheeks. “By all that is holy, please do not
read that. Ever.”

“Too late.”

Chapter fifteen

It was late afternoon but the sky said otherwise. Evening had fallen on TreValla
according to the minimal light, the city streets glimmering with saturated liquid
gems that belied the angry potholes underneath. The clothing lines, for the most
part unadorned by garments, sagged like sodden vacant spider webs, crisscrossing
and sluicing passersby underneath with fat, tinted leftover drops of moisture.

While the rains had ceased for the time being, more was expected. Citizens were out
and about, work being done, but at a hurried pace as vendors called out their wares
and food stalls were already packed for the dinner rush.

Keeping my eyes open, my senses were alert as I once again found myself trying to
smother my power, which thankfully, was working. Braghen was in the lead as he
leapt casually. Traversing laterally, suddenly he turned direction and went
downward toward the bays.

“I thought Durath clued you in on Vahlta Hall?” I asked, confused. In fact, I knew
the CM had told both Jero and Braghen where I was staying. Braghen and I had even
talked about it while we left the compound. He knew roughly where it was, but had
never been close, let alone inside the library. Neither had Jero. It was too off
course in regards to their normal routes, too outside their typical destinations.

Clearly, as of now, he was deviating from the path.

Stopping, he turned sideways, not fully meeting my questioning, albeit obscured,

gaze. He wrung his hands.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“I was hoping to take a detour,” he stammered slightly, but then cleared his
throat, “go into the lower housing district.”

“Okay.” I shrugged. “What for? You have a lead on the case? Should Jero be with
us?” I wondered. Feeling more stable ever since we left the compound, my power not
flexing as much, I figured a change of plan was perfectly fine.

Shaking his head he appeared conflicted. “It’s not that. I…I want you to meet
someone. Someone important to me.”

“Oh.” I waited, a bit taken aback. “Okay. Who is he?”

“She,” he said.

“Hot damn, okay. I would love to meet her. Is she your mother?” I was excited.
Years on this planet and I had never actually seen a female unless from a distance
when I spied on a community social once. Apparently that was how they met people.
Males, in particular.

“She’s my sister. Younger sister,” he answered. For someone so large, he seemed

very insecure with himself at the moment. As if embarrassed in a way, or ashamed
that he was proposing a meeting.

“Nice. How old is she?”

“She’s a bit older than you. Twenty-five rotations,” he said.

“Nah, that’s right around how old I am,” I responded. He cast me a quick, dubious
glance, but then schooled his features. I noticed and asked, “What? What were you
just thinking? It’s not all that baby makuula nonsense, is it? I told you, you’re
all just freakishly tall. I’m full grown here.” I guessed I was around twenty-three
Earth years old, which was equivalent to twenty-five rotations on Haell…not
counting the few eons afterward unconsciously living with the stars. So yeah, we
were basically the same age.

He grabbed the back of his neck, uncomfortably. “I just thought, you know, you act
or speak like a much younger person.”

Meaning immaturity, or the higher pitch, or both. I smirked. I was betting my

willingness to read smut, roof jump, roam unattended, and enjoy inappropriate jokes
was a sign of cliche, rebellious youth to him.

“Just because someone has a personality?” I asked amusedly, not offended. “You all
need to chill out a bit and stop taking yourselves so seriously. Your Lord a prime
example. I bet he never cracked a true smile in his life.”

“No, I didn’t mean that, I just…” He trailed off a moment. “Well, since I can’t see
you I’ve come to think of you as young even though I now realize your scent
indicates otherwise and—”

I held up a hand. “No worries. I get it. I’m short and can be a bit juvenile,” I
said, with a snort.

But I also kept in mind that diverting with immaturity could be a sign of a life
hard-lived, rife with disappointments and dark themes. Sometimes the more one
endured, the more flippant one may become, when after all, life tried to screw them
over and over again. Coping mechanisms 101. And then some people tipped the scales
and became permanently facetious and 'crazy'. Worthy goals, actually. Not admitting
that that was me, but it sure sounded peaceful and happy.

“Uhhh…” Braghen clearly didn’t know how to respond.

“I think you may realize that my impudence is quite possibly clandestinely wise
beyond my years,” I said. Poor guy was so uncomfortable. I tended to do that. And
yes, wise. That was totally me. Like an old, loyal golden retriever, trudging along
blindly, yet loving its cosmic masters, carrying the serious burdens it was never
meant to carry, yet continuing with determination and aplomb, learning life lessons
—

Squirrel!
I quickly realized he was talking and snapped to, a laugh under my breath. He was
backtracking and apologizing. “Brag, I am different. It’s okay. I’m well aware,” I
said soothingly, patting his arm twice. But then added with another snicker, “All
the good ones are.”

He looked down at me questioningly. “I just thought you’d be good for her to meet.”

I sighed and sobered up. “Me? You sure she’d want to meet me?” I had thought Brag
was doing me a favor. However, the way he phrased it seemed as though he saw it as
me helping him out. “What about, you know, my robe?” The more that I actually
thought about it, the more I realized my anathema status would be a factor in
meeting new people. And for some reason, I didn’t want this meeting to go bad.

“It won’t be an issue. She’s very kind and welcoming,” he said, without hesitation.

“Oh, well, in that case, lead on,” I gestured. He nodded happily as if the
awkwardness was now past us. I wasn’t too sure if that was the case. Usually not
particularly self-conscious and caring little if I ended up shocking the natives,
for some reason censoring my usual mouth seemed a good plan. That, and trying not
to fidget.

Heading down into the heart of the lower, we dropped to street level and reached an
area that consisted of stack houses and apartments where the alleyways became
increasingly narrow and the steps steep, showing signs of deterioration. Meandering
through and barely squeezing his shoulders in at certain spots, Braghen eventually
focused on the right side of the thin causeway. It had a golden yellow stucco-like
facade, with rich cobalt blue shutters. Coming to a stop at a small fuchsia door,
he knocked once, then twice. Then twice again. We had agreed that I would wait
outside initially so that he could explain my appearance to his sister.

He entered.

I waited, arms behind my back, trying to catch a glimpse of the darkening sky to
see what the forecast had in store for the next hour.

A few minutes passed.

Braghen, opening the door with a hopeful look on his face, motioned me in.

Inside was a tiny living space with a small stove at one end and a cot at the
other. It appeared that Braghen slept in this room as his things were neatly folded
on the bed while others were draped orderly over a simple changing screen. There
was a frighteningly narrow set of steps leading up to a second level.

“Nika is upstairs,” he said, with a brisk nod. His palm was tapping his pant leg.

“Aren’t you coming?” I asked, feeling a bit out of place and insecure.
Unfortunately, social calls were not something I had knowledge of, in practice or
theory. He scratched at one of his horns and shook his head.

“She deserves lady time. I’ll be down here if you two need me.” His hand came down
and he clasped both, wringing them together.

Confused at his behavior, I ignored the lady comment and gave him a look that of
course he didn’t witness through my hood, maneuvered myself around his large frame,
and began walking up the narrow steps. I didn’t risk saying anything else as his
sister would have undoubtedly heard. At the top of the steps, I entered a room
filled with foliage, multihued vines, and large plate-sized leaves which were
growing on every surface available. In fact, it seemed that Nika was frantically
rearranging pots and containers just to make space for me to sit.

“I am so embarrassed. We should have a settee in this house, but I’m afraid we

don’t get many visitors,” she said, speaking PyRoch warmly, but also with concern.
Her back was turned toward me. Her simple blue skirt rustled as she rolled a large
potted tree that had been placed on castors backward toward her bed. The room was
crammed, yet vibrant with life, all vying for the light of the small windows
overlooking the street, though none was coming through as of now. As she turned
around, I noticed her skirt brushing past a towering stack of paper books. They
began to corkscrew as the blue material caught on a corner and immediately they
spilled out onto the rough hardwood planks of the floor.

“Here, let me help,” I said, already bending over and retrieving a few.

“I apologize, again. This is no way for a guest to be treated,” she said, her voice
right next to me as she had gotten down and joined the cleanup.

“Honestly, I’ve never been called a guest before in my life. No one has ever put
this much effort into my comfort.” Apart from Keeper Rescoven, of course. But that
was still fresh and new, something I was still coming to terms with. In a moment,
the task was done. Patting the pile of thin books, I sent her a smile, which she
didn’t return because once again her back was to me.

“Well, I don’t think this chair will be comfortable at all,” she said. She seemed
unhappy about that. She cleared off the dust with her apron. “But please sit.”
Turning around she arranged her skirt as she sat on her cot just so. “I will have
to get a proper cushion for you, for next time. I promise.”

“Wow, thank you. But I feel like I’m imposing—”

Quickly putting up her hands, she said, “No, no, no. I am so glad you came. Please,
stay.” She cast me a shy, lopsided smile. She was, of course, taller than me by
over a foot, but very effeminate with big, kind, silver eyes. Her green skin was a
dusky olive color and she was hornless, as the pictures of female PyRoch had
depicted in the textbooks. She was very pretty and soft looking.

“My name is Nika, as Braghen probably already told you. I was so full of questions
this morning when he got home just as Haell’s stars were about to rise. To find out
that he had been promoted—and all because an excluded boy had helped him and Jero
out! I am so grateful to you and your assistance. And now he tells me you’re a girl
and I get the opportunity to say thank you in person!” As she had been talking, she
gradually became more secure at really looking in my direction. Nika nearly bounced
at the edge of her bed, her hands clasped firmly between her knees as if she was
managing her decorum.

I was shocked. “Well, I didn’t do much—”

“Nonsense,” she said, with a shake of her head. “Braghen doesn’t go into specifics
about his duties often, but he said you were amazing and made a huge difference to
a lot of people.” She laughed. “And to come from a rejected one! You make me feel
proud of who I am! And now that I know you’re female, I’m even more astounded.” She
literally beamed with her smile, asymmetrical as it was being a significant cleft
palate.

I felt like a fraud.

“I was asking Braghen this morning before he changed his uniform and left again if
he would go and try to find you for me. All day I was trying to come up with a way
to take you in and offer you a place to stay. He had said you were younger so I was
hoping that we’d be able to work something out, a way to repay your bravery.” Her
hands shot up to her mouth. “Oh! He also tells me you are a reader?” I nodded as I
couldn’t get a word in otherwise. “And you’re not even PyRoch, yet you speak it so
well,” she breathed.

For the next thirty or so keviks I sat there in amazement at the pure delight Nika
was. Her excitement was genuine, her questions nonstop, and her selflessness was
undeniable. As I answered her and expressed my gratitude for her graciousness more
than once, I couldn’t help but notice the darkened robe, very similar to my own,
hanging up in a shadowed corner, hidden by vines.

Nika was rejected. And not like me. No, I was a liar.

I left Nika’s comfortable home with Braghen in the lead. As soon as I had walked
back down the steps from my first ever social event, now with future social
engagements on the schedule, Braghen met me with the largest smile I had ever seen
on a male’s face. Jero, the jokester, couldn’t even beat what I had witnessed. And
what I had witnessed was a brother experiencing pure joy secondhand simply because
his sister had been laughing. A sister that was undoubtedly ostracized from
society. Spit on, even.

What was even more discomposing was that the lightness and hopefulness that gleamed
in his eyes, kept traveling to me, as if I were the catalyst to this achingly
beautiful change. And as we ran through the city and jumped sodden rooftops, going
higher and higher with each leap, it was glaringly apparent that Nika hadn’t been
lying. She didn’t receive many visitors. None actually. Until me. And she thought
we were both the same.

Thing was, I was just a coward, an alien transplant coward from another solar
system, yes, but a coward just the same. And one that didn’t have any physical
challenges as she did. Oh sure, a cleft palate didn’t inhibit her physical mobility
in any way, but society sure blocked her path, forcing her to wear a damn shroud to
cover her perceived hideousness.

At that moment, I couldn’t stand my robe. It was a symbol of isolation and hate.
Nika was one of the most beautiful people I’d ever met. And the next time I met
Previn, I was going to punch him in his arrogant Falk fracking face, not because of
what he did to me, but what he had probably already done to others.

“You okay?” Braghen asked, in his native tongue, his hand grasping the back of his
neck as he looked down at me. We were both standing in front of Vahlta Hall.

I hadn’t really noticed.

“Yeah…no.” I remained where I was. The sky had begun to drizzle. Soon, it would be
a downpour.

Uncomfortable as he was, he asked, “What’s wrong? Nika seemed to like you. In fact,
I’ve never been able to keep up with her when she talks about books and all that
stuff. I can read, but not as well as her. But here you come along, you live in a
library of all places. She finally has someone that can relate.”

“I’m a coward,” I said.

His brows furrowed. “I don’t understand. You’ve been one of the bravest people I
have ever met. Nika hardly ever goes outside with me. In truth, she hasn’t in more
than a rotation. And here you are uncaring of the robes you wear. You don’t even
correct people when they think you are a young male. Not that I agree with that
part, but—”

“Nika didn’t cover her face when she talked to me. I kept hidden, Braghen. Don’t
praise me when your sister is the brave one.”

He nodded. “Yes, but bravery is expressed in more ways than one.” He folded his
arms. He went quiet for a moment. Thunder rolled in the distance.

“We went to a healer once, despite the laws of refusal for the rejected.” I knew
about those dumb laws: don’t mess with what the gods gave you draven shivit. “He
denied us, of course. I don’t think he could have helped though, being the small-
time healer he was and the little amount of coin we had. We were living in the
farmlands in the East at that time, and she was young and had dreams of becoming a
wife and mother one day.” Shaking his head while remembering, he continued,
speaking more openly in his native language than when he had ever spoken Common. “I
think my disappointment hurt her more than anything. I have been providing for her
since I was in my teens. Our family had gradually ceased to recognize her as their
own, so I became ostracized with her when I refused to let her go uncared for and
die as a young girl.”

“They sound awful,” I said, darkly.

“Yes. They were…typical country citizens.” He waved a hand. “But that’s not my
point. My point is that she decided to move to the city, for me. A lone farmhand’s
pay wasn’t enough to get by there. She knew it, I knew it. So she donned the robe
that scared her more than anything else, and moved to an unforgiving den of bigots—
to help me find work, also knowing that the city pays a stipend to those who have a
female dependent in the home.”

“Now you’re putting yourself down. Both of you were brave. She knew that you needed
to provide and she also feels good about helping in any way that she can.”

“And yet she hardly goes outside, because she promotes my life before her own. What
she sees in you, is opportunity along with friendship. You represent options that
she thought were closed off to her. To her, you are very brave, to wear your robes
so freely, to walk around without an escort.”

“I’m just hiding under these robes, I hope you remember that.”

“Does it matter? We are all hiding.”

Very philosophical. I let out a half-laugh. He wasn’t taking me literally.

Gesturing toward the doors, I asked, “Would you like to come in?”

Braghen straightened. “Ah, no. Not tonight.”

I snickered. “Scared?”

He made a back and forth motion with his hand and grimaced. “I’ve heard stories.
The Keeper probably doesn’t want a brute as uneducated as me in there.”

“Because you lack a formal education?” I asked, astounded. He just gave me a look
like, duh. “What Keeper Resco appreciates is someone’s desire to learn. You don’t
need deep, scholarly pockets to do it.”

He looked skeptical, but said, “You may be right, but you need deep enough pockets
to clear up the time.”

Sadly, he had a point. But that got me thinking. “Okay, fine. Wait here.” Running
up the front steps of Vahlta Hall, I crashed through the front doors. Keeper
Rescoven stood in the center of the floor underneath the glowing emerald of the
hourglass, palms folded, awaiting my arrival. As he looked at me with a raised
brow, digging into my robes I pulled out the Xyclanov book, and said, “Happy
Birthday, Resco.” Smacking it to his green clad chest, I loped past.

Not at all shocked by my randomness, his insouciant voice murmured, “Shellon-store

bound drivel, how…quaint. Oh. Oh.”

Making my way up the stairs I headed for the second floor, PyRoch section:
translations. Grabbing one particular book on my way, I quickly snatched a glinting
black rolling ladder dragging it with swiftness to the end of the aisle. Climbing
up around twenty or so feet, I sniped another manuscript and jumped as I was
halfway down. Rounding the shelves, I descended the stairs, passing the place where
Rescoven had been, now nowhere to be seen, and flew past the stone griffins as I
exited in a blur.

“Here,” I said, skidding to a stop, holding two books out. “I noticed that Nika’s
books were all in PyRoch. I’m assuming that you read in your native language better
than in Common?” Well, he seemed to speak more fluently in PyRoch so…

He nodded, eyes large. He didn’t take the books though.

“So the top one here I’ve read. Well, not this book specifically since this is a
translated version of a Falk volume, but it’s really interesting being that it has
compiled and described different martial arts of various races, depictions of the
movements of take-downs and other, you know, ways to hold a sword, knife, what-
have-you if you ever get in a fight.” He still didn’t take it. “I don’t know if
that’s your thing though. It’s kind of my thing. I thought it was really well done.
It even mentions some K’Vroken moves that are, you know, legendary,” I breathed.
“Anyway, you know, if you have time, is all.”

He kept glancing at the books, then at the library. “Trick, it sounds very
interesting, but, you can’t just take books.”

I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t just Keeper Resco’s rules on that, it was all of Haell.
Checking out books was just something that wasn’t done. Manuscripts stayed forever
in the halls of learning.

Until me. Until now.

“Trust me, it’s fine.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m a Black Line member and it’s not allowed.”

Slumping, I instantly deflated. Weird, how excited I had let myself get. But just
then, as my gaze was headed down in disappointment, Braghen yelped. An aged scrap
of parchment, folded once down the center like a book, fluttered in front of his
eyes as he rubbed his stinging cheek. It hovered there, masterfully.

“I think it’s for you,” I guessed with a smirk, feeling a bit lighter. The mahdra
was unobscured this time.

Warily, casting his eyes on Vahlta Hall and then me, he finally reached for the
hovering note and plucked it with some hesitation. He read aloud, “Lady Trick is
allowed to disseminate any written and printed work originating from Vahlta Hall.
Her word is my own.” Braghen looked up in shock, then down again. "It’s signed by
the Keeper. It also says to give you this note when I’m through being ungrateful?”
He passed it to my waiting free hand a bit woodenly.
Snatching it, I looked down as the original written script dissolved and new black
lines emerged. I read it and snorted in amusement.

“What? What does it say now?” he asked, worry in his tone, as he leaned over a bit
trying to read it from his perspective. Not happening. Resco had switched from
writing in PyRoch to English.

I waved the scrap. “Ah, nothing too bad. Just a warning that if something happens
to his books, you’ll be the responsible party. Also, when you’re done reading,
either give them to me or tap the lower spine twice on a table and say Vahlta Hall.
I think it will activate a return spell.”

Slowly, he reached for the two manuscripts. “I—I didn’t know that this was
possible.”

“I know, right? But he pretty much spelled every single book in there,” I said with
a shrug, still amazed at the awesomeness of Resco myself.

His jaw dropped, but then he shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m
shocked that you can do this. Why,” he held up his free hand and stopped himself,
“never mind, why. Thank you, Lady Trick. Nika will love this…and I’m humbled.”

I ignored the weird designation. “There’s a K’Vroken tackle in there that you could
probably pull off since you have the muscles. It’d be legit to see you use it on
the streets.”

He laughed, though it sounded slightly off-kilter. “Okay, I’ll try. So, tomorrow…do
you mind if Jero and I come around in the afternoon? That’s when our shift starts.”

I had taken some time to think about this after signing the contract with Lord
Theros. I wasn’t limited to Vahlta Hall by any means, nor forced to remain inside
somewhere. It did state that it was preferred that as a consult, that I use the
provided protection from the Line should I need to travel to any destination in the
city. I had only signed it because it was asking me to be considerate, not
requiring me to fit into the Black Line’s schedule.

“That will work,” I said and waved him off as I turned around and hiked up the
stairs. I heard a chuckle behind me as I reached the doors, but at that moment,
lightning split the sky in a jagged line across the left of the city, near the
cliffs, and thunder immediately rolled over, drowning out all other noise. I turned
to see Braghen’s expression, because dang, that was loud, but he had already left.

Resco was still somewhere else and occupied, but now because of his little note
outside, my suspicions were confirmed that he could have eyes and ears wherever he
needed them. I didn’t know whether to call him Keeper, Krampus, Jeeves, or Merlin—
all seemed to fit. “Thank you,” I called out to no one but the curated collections
as I ascended the towering stairs. I was betting his books would somehow relay that
information to their Keeper.

Turned out it was a good bet.

After a bath and cramming nearly an entire loaf of bread down my throat, I wasn’t
much of a cook, I fluffed up my bed’s pillows and admired them for the hundredth
time, and then went around and watered my well-behaved plants while singing. The
golden plant with trailing vines grew visibly in front of my eyes, and shockingly,
somehow began to mimic my tune...then harmonize by way of some eerie vibration and
growth. I made a mental note to do more research on that, but I wasn’t going to
deny that it could have just been another me thing.
And then I just…sat.

If it wasn’t for my connection with Resco, and in turn the symbiotic link with
Vahlta Hall, I would probably go comatose for a spell. Not as a choice, no. But
that was how my body had coped prior to officially meeting the keeper. Now that I
had backup, a place to defrag and drain the excess energy when I needed, I found
myself staring in the dark, not catatonically, but gazing out the bedroom window
and seeing the sky come alive as the rains pelted down. Lowering my gaze, I held
out my hand, palm down. No tremors. It was a first.

Again, I had Resco to thank for that.

An hour or so more must have passed when it turned out that my inner bet from
earlier had paid off. Once again, an aged, but respectable little scrap of
parchment fluttered into my view, this time not smacking the recipient in the face,
but waiting patiently. Taking it immediately, I read, “You are welcome. You also
have a visitor. -R”

Well well, I was right. His books were his minions. They had heard me.

I would have found more humor in that and perhaps had been more amazed, but at the
moment I was wondering who my visitor was, especially during this time of night.
After all, I was in pajamas and once again had to don my robe. A robe that I had
been pondering on ever since the visit with Nika. One I was beginning to resent.

Regardless, I slipped it on as well as my shoes.

Rescoven was a the bottom of the stairwell when I finally descended, his focus on
the doors.

“He has been sniffing around for the last two hours. I’m sure he already deduced
this is where you are staying, which is standard for his unrelenting kind. Should
he decide to come in, I will not tolerate any, destruction, conscious or
otherwise,” he said.

“What, who would even do that? Who is it out there?”

Resco turned. “Your K’Vroken.”

My eyes widened. “Krule?” I shook my head trying to overlook my thoughtless use of

the K’Vroken’s nickname in front of Resco. Shit. “Wait, you’re not meaning
destruction of your physical property—you mean your spellwork? He’s one of the
K’Vroken leaders, isn’t he? He’s strong enough to null your spells?”

Turning to me, he neither confirmed nor denied my question. “I keep reminding you
that I have no physical property, it is all yours. Also, your choice of pets is
interesting, Trick. But as it is late and I have been gifted with a riveting
document of linguistic achievement,” he nodded in my direction with a subtle upturn
of his mouth, “I fear my attention will be elsewhere until the morning.”

“Huh? You’re leaving me? What if he has information on the case? We could both be
here for that and talk to him together,” I said, to his retreating back. I didn’t
even bother arguing about the ownership of the library thing. It was his in every
way, shape, and form. I was just a silly figurehead, one he seemed to indulge and
serve, yes, but a celestial mascot, all the same.

I preferred it that way.

“Oh, I am not convinced he is here entirely for that,” he said, in a peculiar tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean, then? Why do you think he is here?” I asked, a bit
perturbed.

He waved a bony hand elegantly as he got further away. “Why does the darkness
follow the light? Why do the plants follow the fiery twins in the sky? Why do sick
people seek healing?” he answered cryptically, if not a bit sardonically.

“Planet rotation, heliotropism—phototropism, and so they don’t die! Get back here!”
I yelled, or whined, hoping my words found him through the long rows of bookcases.

It could have just been my anxiety at the moment, but I could have sworn I heard a
huff of amusement. He was at the first floor’s back door to his requisite room. “I
will enjoy our talk tomorrow,” he called out as he entered.

Jaw dropping, I just got ditched.

Chapter sixteen

Idon't know why I was nervous. It could have been because of the late hour and the
ruminative mood I had been in. Perhaps it was because I was just now second
guessing my choice of leading Krule on the rooftops last night into a draven den,
humorous as it had been. Or maybe it was the fact that I was just a smidgeon
obsessed with K’Vroken history, lore, combat techniques…their size, horns, art,
rumors of tattoos, the legendary Towerlahns, the beasts they hunt...

Embarrassingly, I could go on.

He could have new intel, too.

I made my way to the front doors and passed the Haellish griffons I tested names on
earlier today, absentmindedly patting the stone talons on Dave. Outside it was
pouring. Taking my time with each individual step, I clopped down in my untied
boots while looking into the night. At the road, he still wasn’t visible. That
didn’t mean he wasn’t around, however.

Hands on my hips, I waited. And then waited some more. I was thoroughly soaked.

“I hope you’re not plotting my death, or setting a pack of rabid draven on me,” I
said, out into the darkness. “Because that would suck,” I mumbled. Too much more of
this, and I was out. Also, pretty sure if he was trying to kill me I’d have been
eliminated last night, most likely epically. Maybe a decapitation. There was a lot
of that back in the wars. And yeah, probably would have eventually reanimated, but
that was beside the point. Planet hop three educated me on limb reattachment. It
wasn't fun.

“Trick,” he said from my right.

I screamed.

Palm to my heart, I took a moment to breathe. “Krule, wow.” I bent over and braced
myself, placing my hands on my knees and peered up and over.
“Are you feeling unwell?” he asked, beginning to back up as if I were contagious or
something.

“What? No,” I said, puzzled. “You came out of nowhere. I’m taking a minute to
restart my heart, is all.”

“Your heart has malfunctioned because of me,” he said guiltily, his accent thick.

I narrowed my eyes as my upper lip lifted. “Huh? It’s just a phrase, I’m fine.
Also, I didn’t catch whatever disease Splat had so I’m not sick, either. You don’t
have to retreat. I’m not infected or anything.” Or maybe I had misjudged him. Maybe
he did care about my rejected status under the robes and thought me gross. He
looked, apart from terrifying, hesitant.

Smiling, revealing his black, razor sharp teeth, he walked closer as his apex
predator status emerged, leaking through every pore. “That jumper was just reacting
to my aura, the way many people do. I am concerned that I will make you ill and I
don’t wish you any duress.”

Oh.

Also, what?

Straightening, I shook my head in confusion. “Can we go inside? I don’t know what

you’re talking about and I’m afraid I started this conversation in Common and some
words just aren’t translating.”

“I will not be welcome in there,” he said, shaking his head. His robe, as well as
mine, was sopping wet and plastered to his horns and mountainous body.

“Your secret is safe with me,” I responded. “No one will report your presence to
the Sahven council in there.”

He looked at me with seriousness. “I believe you,” he hesitated, “but my…power is

not welcome.”

Oh yeah.

“Right. So, as long as you keep your mahdra,” I searched for the right word,
“destabilizing?” I tried out—he nodded. “As long as you keep the destabilizing
power in check, there’s no problem. Can you hold it back?”

Nodding once more, he added, “I normally never have a reason to. It is as

breathing: automatic. But I am the strongest in my clan and have learned to heel
the hunger. I will keep it at bay.”

I smiled. “Excellent. I’m freezing.” Sister star or not, the elements still
affected me occasionally. Turning, I ascended the steps.

Immediately, as I crossed the threshold, I was breathed on. By fire.

Shrieking, my hands automatically shielded my face. Just as quickly as it came,

however, the flames instantly snuffed out from the halo they had formed around me.
I turned to Dave and his nostrils were smoking, his head tilted and looking down at
me in…boredom? As if he were thinking, 'What?—you’re welcome.' Stunned, I scanned
my arms and body. Not actively on fire. Also, I was completely dry. Slowly, a smile
grew on my face. I turned to the griffin. He had resumed his straight, inanimate
perch.
Instead of screeching, what the hell? I said, “Nice. Thanks, Dave.” Stone cracking,
he puffed his chest out further. Not to be forgotten, the flanking griffon to the
right flapped his wings two times and huffed. “You too, Bruiser. You’re both
awesome.” Bruiser nodded and then solidified a pose extending his neck higher than
Dave’s.

Laughing out, I patted my dry clothes.

Krule, however, was not dry. Towering in the doorway, dripping rivulets of rain, he
held himself in a fighting pose, a massive Nix sword out and ready to annihilate
the enemy. He looked like a human’s version of a demon about to lay waste, his
black visage murderous, his obsidian-like teeth ready to spill copious amounts of
blood.

Putting my hands out, I said, “It’s okay. I wasn’t attacked.” Damn, he was
terrifying.

Breathing in and out heavily, he scanned me up and down. “Your robes, they protect
you?”

“No. It was just a flamboyant drying spell. It wasn’t dangerous.” Turning pointedly
to Dave, I said, “I could have used some warning, however.” The stone creature
minutely shrugged, cracking itself and reforming solid again, but not before he
stretched his height to best his partner. Clapping my hands together, I said,
“Okay, moving on. Welcome to Vahlta Hall.” I gestured for him to enter.

Fluidly, he sheathed his sword, then adjusted his sopping wet robes.

Contemplating the statue, then resting my eyes back on Krule, I asked, “Will a
drying spell work on you?”

“No spells work directly on me. I eat them,” he answered, with a shrug of his
massive, hulking shoulders.

Realizing that we were still speaking Common and perhaps that explained his
particular word choice, I switched over to K’Vroken. “Let’s go upstairs,” I said.
Mind you, I wasn’t inviting him into my quarters, just the secluded scholar’s table
up there in the back near my door. I considered having him sit in the requisite
room with me, but I didn’t want to risk the intricate spellwork in there with his…
hungry power. Too bad too, I figured the room would have supplied a fireplace for
us.

He took a few more steps and stopped. Officially in Vahlta Hall, he took in the
view.

Puzzled at first at his pause, I soon smiled knowingly, proudly. It was shocking,
this place.

“I did not expect this,” he rumbled.

“Yeah,” I huffed out in a laugh. “It’s a bit Led Zeppelin.” In my mind, the hall
here exuded dreamlike masterful riffs and complex melodies referencing Tolkien. I
sighed, my thoughts drifting for a moment and wondering if my golden singing plant
upstairs had enough water. I think I'd call him Robert.

“I don’t know what that means.” He was still peering around, looking upward toward
the top of the darkened cavernous atrium.
I waved it off. “Sorry, just me…remembering the gods. Follow me,” I said, leading
the way to the coiling blackwood staircase, bypassing the illuminated hourglass
indicating it was well past operating hours. As we ascended the steps together he
kept examining, his expression unreadable, possibly scanning for danger and mapping
the area. Or he was still just taking it all in.

Our footsteps echoed eerily.

Looking around myself, I imagined seeing it for the first time. Centered ominously
with its waving black and gold glittering sands all residing now at the bottom of
the instrument, the hourglass towered. Three heightened floors of dominating onyx
columns fanned around the atrium which lay underneath the stained glass dome
overhead. With gold embellishments scattered throughout, polished blackwood made up
the massively tall, imperial bookcases filled with leather bound volumes of all
different hues. Slender, perilous ladders pierced down like metal daggers at the
ready. Apart from the colorful glass above, now dim due to the time of night, the
aesthetic was dark: midnight green, black, absinthe glowing mahdra through glass,
and shadowed empty tables. And encompassing all of this, there was a deliciously
chill feeling throughout, as if time was put on ice.

Like a villain’s lair. It was gorgeous.

Eventually making it to the third floor, I went ahead and walked us through the
familiar corridors of books, eventually ending up at my secluded table near the
back wall. On my right was the location of my currently hidden door. To the left,
down a few cases, was the lovely isolated entomology section. The Vahlen crystals
above emitted low, warm light, while a small wall sconce lit up as I flopped down.
“You’re soaking. I wish there was a fireplace up here so you could at least warm
up.” I wouldn’t have minded one either, even dry as I was.

Glancing at the table, he removed his hood. It slopped backward with its heavy,
dripping weight. His large horns curved from above his temple, up, then around the
back of his head to rest around his jawline. They were black as night, just like
his unblinking eyes. Burrs lined each one slanting toward its tapering tip. He had
no hair and his ears were flat and pointed like a Sahven’s. Unlike a Sahven, the
outside cartilage on his left ear was crimped with a gold-like band. It was hard to
focus on where he was looking, but I thought I found a darker section in the black
depths where his vertical pupil was. At rest, his brows looked to be set in a
permanent scowl while his exposed canine teeth didn’t help to soften the look.

Removing the mammoth-sized sword from under his robe, he leaned it carefully on the
wall, and then pulled out an identical one to the first, doing the same with it.
Finally, he pulled out a chair and carefully sat, as if aware of his dripping state
and uncomfortable with making a mess. “I did not mean to scare you tonight. I do
not want you to feel badly around me. In any way.”

Pulling up my knees, I leaned on the wall sitting sideways in the chair. “Yeah,
about that, people get nauseated around you in particular? Or is that like a shared
K’Vroken thing?” I asked, perhaps staring too long at his hands which were…
spectacularly immense, the palms down on the table. His position was awkward
looking, but it made me wonder if he was trying to put me at ease, proving to me he
was unarmed and not a danger.

Yeah, right.

“Just me. Mostly those who have very little mahdra react the worst.”

Splat vomited last night.

“But others, those with more mahdra are better?” I asked.

“Yes. They gag less often and do not completely throw up their stomach contents in
fear. If I touch them, however, even with gloves, many blackout.”

Wow. What a crappy hand. For both parties. “What about fellow K’Vrokens? I’m
assuming your power somehow causes it? If they have your same ability, does it
still affect them the same, or not at all?” Mind you, I felt like I was prying a
bit, but I also knew very little about their abilities. It sounded like Krule was
super powerful in anti-mahdra, or whatever you wanted to call it.

“My people avoid me. I have inadvertently taken a few clansmen’s power and left
them…inert. I do not do it on purpose,” he said, honestly, but shrugged his
shoulders as if tough shit for them.

And here I thought I was the only one having power issues. Surprising to know.

Another thing worthy of note, I was no longer nervous. Cautiously curious was where
I had moved, to closing in on completely confused—because why was he here? And at
this time of night? Or maybe I was missing something regarding the schedule of
K’Vroken. It would have made sense if they were more nocturnal given their ability
to blend into the night as the 'shadowed ones'. But alas, I hadn’t read anything
specifically regarding that. Or maybe it was common knowledge—which I didn’t have
much of. Mostly I had the esoteric kind of knowledge with no practical use.

Moving on.

“Was there something you found out about the kidnappings?” I asked.

He shook his head and clenched his jaw, as if not happy about the lack of progress.
“I keep trolling the lowers, trying to find any clues or evidence of other crates
which would lead to answers. I cannot seem to sense mahdra so I don’t know what I’m
looking for.”

“You can’t sense mahdra, but you can destroy it? Can you feel anything in here
right now?” I asked. This place was seeping with it, even if it was cloaked. Maybe
the sheer amount of mojo could trigger his detection.

Turning and peering around, he then looked at me intently. It was a moment before
he answered. “I sense no spellwork,” he said. “But I know it’s here. I pay
attention to details—I’ve learned to do that from a young age. And this place has
many details to indicate a strong mahdra presence.”

About to ask what visual cues he had learned to look out for, my head shot up as I
noticed a dark leather bound book floating silently and upright at chest level at
the end of the narrow shelves. It continued on its course as it got nearer, the
Vahlen crystals above tracking it with spotlighted illumination, unperturbed by the
currently tense K’Vroken who had certainly noticed it, as well. All that was
missing was some creepy music. The Xyclanov had some weird underwater sounding
stuff.

Casting my senses out, I surmised that it derived from Rescoven, but indirectly so.
This was one of his creations. Not something that he had just summoned, but
something that he had spelled a while back and had somehow been triggered?
Autonomously?

The never before seen tome slowly stopped in front of me, hovering in a mannerly
way, as if giving me a choice to take it or not. One thing was clear, the library
was definitely making use of the extra mojo it was helpfully skimming from me. I
had never seen so many changes and felt so much power in its foundation than these
last few days. That, or I was able to read through Rescoven’s obscuration spells
more efficiently as of late.

Eh. Probably the former.

“Is it…safe?” Krule asked, kindly keeping his destructive energy to himself as he
had promised he would.

It felt benign to me. I shrugged. “I think so.” Encased in dark crimson leather, it
had a small gold embossed flame on the front. “Are you getting any power signature
off of it?” Not that I expected an affirmative on that—he’d just told me he
couldn’t sense mahdra. Heck, even Lord Theros said it wasn’t very common to feel
even generalized energy in the air.

“No.”

“Okay, well I say let’s see what it wants,” I said with a grin. I took it with both
hands. Immediately, it lost its hovering capability as it fell into my lap. “It’s…
warm,” I said with surprise. The large three inch thick book sat heavy in my hands
as I slid my fingers lightly over the soft, buttery feel of the leather, the
indentations from the flame mark, and the gold edged bound paper. Lifting it to my
nose, I smelled it. Divine.

Courteously, Krule didn’t comment.

The spine made the beautiful sound of a soft crackle as I opened it. Immediately,
warm mahdra lightly swirled as the red book flew a few feet from my hand and began
to spin, gradually becoming faster until it blurred, then flashed once, a shape
forming into existence. Before us was a large waist-height fire pit, already lit
and flickering with warmth. Its' base an art deco-like black metal brazier, highly
stylized with ancient runes embossed with gold. Resco’s minions had come through,
and evidently, were very in tune with my needs and wants.

Curiouser and curiouser.

“Thank you,” I said, in awe, this time directing my thoughts and words specifically
to the books. I was touched by the gesture.

Krule appeared off-put, a tad defensive. “This is normal here?” he asked.

I shrugged, not wanting to get into it and elaborate on the obscene levels of
mahdra in the Hall. “So, can you feel the heat, or does the spell not cross over to
you?” He adjusted himself in the chair. I always felt like a child when I sat at
the tables here. Krule made the table look undersized.

“I can benefit from secondhand spells, and as long as I concentrate, my power

doesn’t eat them. If they are aimed directly at me, they fall apart.”

“Nice,” I said.

Drumming his fingers on the tabletop, he soon stopped. It went quiet. “Trick?” he
asked looking up. “You do not feel ill even now that you’ve been around me for some
time?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“And last night, my presence didn’t give you any sickness?”

“No.”

“Anxiety?”

“Um, no.”

“Fear?” he asked, hurriedly.

My head moved slightly back. “No.” Sure, there had been some wariness, but that was
justified given the circumstances. Now, however, if I were to be honest, I was
starting to feel…excited. Not wanting to delve into what that signified just yet, I
blurted, “Your hands are huge.”

He immediately put them under the table.

Crap.

“No, they’re nice—I mean they’re strong and well formed and you can probably hold a
sword very easily, and you have callouses so obviously you know how to fight and
stuff, and your claws are longer than I thought but cool.” And as if witnessing
this happen from afar, I added.“I like hands.”

Kill. Me. Now.

I like hands? Was I twelve? And of course he could hold a sword adeptly, he was a
warrior K’Vroken the size of a vekking building! Hands? I didn’t know if I liked
hands, that was never something I had noticed.

Ugh. Honesty here. Okay maybe it was, but he sure as hell didn’t need to be
informed of my bizarre, specific attraction.

Until now, apparently.

He peered down to his lap where they rested. “Nice,” he said, testing the word
carefully to himself, seeing his hands in a new light.

I fought the urge to facepalm, my throat dry.

Feeling like a dumbass, I hurried and said, “Sorry. That was probably too much
information. See, I like to read and do research and I have this, like, fascination
with K’Vroken history and...” I paused, realizing I was digging the hole further.
“Yeah, I don’t know what I’m saying.” And then I made that awkward tuck-your-lips-
in half-smile. Not that he could see it, no. But it was there. The uncomfortable
acknowledgment grimace, with nod, usually reserved for times when you’ve realized
what you said was mindless and its retraction impossible.

My head hit my knees.

Moments passed, but from the corner of my eye, I saw that he brought his hands out
to the table again. At least he didn’t feel self-conscious anymore. It was my turn
for that.

“You are not K’Vroken?” he asked.

“No,” I mumbled. “Did you think I was?” My ability with languages was throwing
everyone off, it seemed.

He scoffed. “Not really. You are tiny.”

“Ugh, not this again. Braghen keeps referring to me as if I’m some baby makuula in
need of—”

“Who is this Braghen and why would he smear your name next to the steamy shits that
are the makuula? Is he the male you were with tonight?”

“What?” My head came up. He was visibly affronted. “He didn’t mean it as an insult.
Braghen is nice.”

“Nice. That comparison is far from nice,” he said. “He is the one who escorted you
home?”

I rolled my eyes but nodded. Obviously I had been followed, though I should have
guessed. Rescoven was right, K’Vroken were unrelenting and focused hunters,
probably more so if you intrigued them in any way. Like escort them through a roof.

Realizing that if I continued on this thread we could forget about my uncomfortable

broadcast about his hands a moment ago, I said, “Yeah, about that…” I gave him a
generalized summary about the contract with Lord Theros, about my safety being a
minor, but existing concern, and how I was asked to consider having guards now that
I was a consult to the Black Line, thus explaining Braghen’s presence.

Not that I owed Krule an explanation, no. But I was in a state of mind of not
caring that he knew. In the end, I had a feeling I was just going to do whatever I
wanted to do, and now that the momentum of change had begun, I was rolling along
nicely.

Like a runaway train.

“And this is where it gets a bit sketch,” I continued. “See, I clarified a few
points in the contract, but also left a few things a bit hazy on purpose. The fact
that it was a pretty simple document helped. But since I am a new player on the
scene, Lord Theros wanted to make sure I had no ulterior plans of hurting the Black
Line or working against them—which, I don’t. But I also didn’t feel compelled to
let them know about any undocumented immigrants I happened to have met,” I said,
meaningfully, “as that information doesn’t directly pertain to the case. So, as of
now, you’re sort of an informant and person of interest, but conveniently, one I
don’t have to tattle on.”

He was serious. “I don’t like you having to lie for me.”

“Omitting, not lying. Also, I don’t care. All these people do is draft contracts
hoping to close or open some type of loophole. The better the contract, the better
the liar. I’m well within compliance to the fairly simple one I revised.” I
shrugged. “Besides, I’m playing strictly by the rules. And by strictly, I mean
following the status quo of the ever-maneuvering, dancing gray area between the
black and white. It’s universal.”

He nodded and drummed his fingers.

“Yes, I know I’m talking in circles.”

“I like when you talk. Your voice, it is soft and smooth…vibrant,” he said, with a
smile, his gold tooth making a brief appearance. “It’s nice.” He rumbled, then
drummed his fingers again.

I tried not to look down at the tabletop and stare at those fingers. Wonder what
they would feel like on my—
“There is a bird my people have in the mountains, the kalla. Very elusive and shy
by the accounts. Small, too. If you happen to hear the kalla chirp, you are
considered lucky to have heard such a maestro test its note. If you hear its song,
you have been blessed with a gift, one that even the hardest of hearts cannot help
but be swayed by with its purity and energy.”

Hesitant about where he was going with this, I asked out of respect for the
conversation, “Have you ever heard one?”

“Never had hoped to. Wildlife avoids me with my natural aura of dissonant power,”
he said. “Until last night.”

“Uhh, so you have heard one,” I said. My knee began bouncing.

“Yes. A female. I recognized my blessing as soon as I heard the song ‘tell him you
piece of draven shivit’ being sung. I stopped breathing for a moment.” He just
stared at me, albeit unsurely at first, but with a smile slowly lifting at the
corner of his mouth, now a bit cocky. “I would not be surprised if you had wings.”

Uh, was this a pickup line? Directed at me? I would have looked around if I wasn’t
absolutely sure we weren’t completely alone as it was. He basically said, 'You had
me at hello' or in this case, 'You had me at: tell him you piece of draven shivit'.
I didn’t know how to react.

Or maybe I’d read it all wrong.

Nervously, I snorted. Songbird-like.

Fidgeting something crazy, I said, “Pretty sure that wasn’t me singing.” Pretty
sure I’d blow his mind if I did. All of Haell. Its multi-raced residents I had come
to realize had a vocal range of grunts to growls, maybe a smooth bass here and
there judging my Lord Theros’s voice. Anatomically speaking, they just didn’t have
the same vocal cords, theirs being much thicker and longer.

Having just met Nika, however, she had a silky richness to her voice that was
surprising. I was guessing it was a female quality. Me? I was a clone. The richie
who had me birthed needed some new skin but bestowed me with some genetic vocal
talents in the process. This was cruelly verified by the Haven technicians pointing
out it was a waste not to harvest some Swiss-born, what’s-her-face’s voice box,
along with the skin. Too tricky at the time, apparently. Even for them.

To that end, I taught myself to sing courtesy of some long-dead guy’s playlist that
was incredibly diverse bordering on multiple personality disorder. It was
sensational.

Shrugging his massive shoulders, he said, “I know what I heard. Tell me, do you
like Vrox meat?” Krule gazed in my direction. Mind reeling, I nodded because yeah,
I did. But what was going on? “I would like to provide you with Vrox meat tomorrow
night. We can eat it together, if you are willing.”

Heart pounding, face heating up, I couldn’t help what came out of my mouth next.
“I’m rejected. Don’t you care?” Honestly, I didn’t know why this was happening at
all, let alone how I should feel about it.

Okay, so I wasn’t stupid. I knew what was happening. Just shocked, I guess. Haven
had loaded me up with enough libido killers to have me think I was asexual even
long after my reincarnation from the Sisters. It wasn’t but a year or so ago that
me, an alien on an alien planet, had become interested in the native male
population. Well, ahem, a few males had gotten me looking. Nice hands and all.
Which shocked me and had me burying my head in denial since. No need for that crap
when a single one of my sneezes could level the city. Feeling amorous feelings?
Well, that was too explosive to consider.

“I am not very attractive even among the standards of my people. I’m too big, too
dark. Also, my presence makes most people ill, and if not that reaction, wary. Do
you care?” he asked.

“Of course not!” But that wasn’t my point. He was proposing something along the
lines of a date. “And I wasn’t talking about attraction. I was simply bringing up
the fact that people think I could harbor you know, some hideous disease. Don’t you
care about that?”

He shrugged with a smirk. “I am very stout and hardy.”

I couldn’t help it, I laughed out partly in disbelief. But despite his answering
smile and his frustratingly well-formed hands, I didn’t get it. “I don’t have a
disease, by the way,” I clarified, just because. Besides, I’d been tested just
today.

“I know.”

Feet dropping to the floor from my chair, I straightened. “Seems like you’re
desperate. Sorry, just saying. Just because I don’t vomit around you is not a good
enough reason to get interested in me—someone whose face you’ve never even seen.” I
shook my head.

There, push him away. Go me.

Distractingly, his smile grew, then he intertwined his fingers and flipped his
hands, stretching. He did have nice hands. Apparently he was thinking tactically
now and using them to his advantage. I didn’t know how to feel about that.

“You say you are interested in K’Vroken history and combat?” he asked, a swagger
back in his demeanor. Gone was the hesitancy from earlier. Now that he knew he
wasn’t causing me sickness or fear, an unrelenting focus was back.

“Yeah,” I said slowly affirming, not knowing where this was headed. A lot of that
going around lately, actually.

“My fellow K’Vrok do not like to share our knowledge with outsiders,” he said. I
already knew this. It was part of the reason why I was so interested in them.
K’Vroken books were rare. Unattainable to most. He went on. “But I would be honored
if you’d like to learn from me. I can teach you whatever you’d like to know. I hail
from an ancient warrior caste. I have perfected the seventeen degrees of K’Trov
centuries ago. I have lived and fought in the multi-continent Sahven wars and won,”
he smirked, “And I can get you books.” He looked around and shrugged. “More of
them, if you’d like.”

Be still my beating heart. He had me at learn. He clinched it with more books.

I think I had a problem.

I made fists with my hands, or else I’d be a bit grabby and say give over. But as
he didn’t have any books on him as of now, I’d reign it in as much as I could.
“Why? What’s in it for you?”

He leaned back and crossed his arms. “I would like for us to be friends. You have
my name, I have yours. In K’Vrok, that is backward. Trust leads to friendship, then
you exchange names. Since we have begun the last first, it would ease my
sensibilities to have an accord between us. Friendship.”

I was chewing my lip, leg still bouncing. Sly, maneuvering, strategist, this one.
Also, very attractive carrot dangling in front of my nose.

Books. Meaning the books. Either way, choices to be made.

I always liked the rehydrated carrots on Haven…

“No dates. That’s just weird.”

He put his hands up. “I will abide by your TreValla customs.” He smiled wickedly.

“Those are not my customs. And let’s be real, I haven’t been locked in a tower and
I’m a lone female walking around without an escort most of the time, as you
undoubtedly noticed. Community socials aren’t my thing.”

“No. Using your Kalla wings to fly over buildings and sending your pursuers through
rooftops to land in piles of draven dung is more your thing.” He seemed pleased by
that.

“I’d say oops, but that was completely premeditated on my behalf—the roof part. I
knew it was about to cave, and you were too fast for my liking.” I crossed my arms
and stuck my nose up a bit. Deal with it. “Besides, you seem okay. You’re stout and
hardy,” I said, recalling the words he had used on himself.

“Thank you,” he replied smugly.

“That’s not what—” I uncrossed my arms. “You know what, never mind. Two things are
going to happen, here. One, when you leave tonight, I want you, if you are willing,
to keep an eye out for a dark ship. The Black Line has reason to believe the
trafficking is occurring on some type of shipping vessel possibly made out of
blackwood with a cargo door built on the side of its hull. I know that’s a bit
vague, but that’s what we have.”

He was instantly serious. “Blackwood would indicate money, which makes sense. I
have not seen such a ship, but I will examine the vessels closer from now on. Thank
you for passing me information,” he said.

“I know your people have been affected, too. It makes no sense to hoard knowledge
in this regard. That said, I’m traipsing in the grey area of the contract so I
can’t tell you how we got that information and I can’t really get more specific.”
Not that there was more to tell. We had very little to go on. The rest was up to me
sniffing Sahven butt and finding a match.

He nodded in understanding. “And the second?” he prompted.

Squaring my shoulders, this was where I was going to test his mettle. See if he
really would share knowledge. “I need to hold your sword.”

He raised a brow with a smirk.

“Your blade!”

The smirk grew.

Good hell. Apart from fixating on his hands, I’d been casting glances at his twin
behemoth sabers resting in their scabbards leaning against the wall. Just the hilts
were seen, but they were undeniably badass. Teasing finished, he schooled his
features back to the standard intense demon look he had going for him. Wasn’t going
to lie, he wasn’t… unattractive. Not at all.

Tilting his head, he began, “If you know K’Vroken history, you know how we are
about our blades. They are our family. We care for them deeply.”

I nodded in understanding. Well, so much for that—

“If you are willing, I’d share them with you after the customary clan grip.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Really? Also, what is a clan grip?
Nothing I’ve read mentions anything like that.” In fact, I thought the K’Vrokens
didn’t do unnecessary contact with others, with but a few exceptions.

“To show trust, we clasp like this,” he said, holding up his hands, then grasping
his forearms.

Simple enough.

“Uh, okay then,” I said, a bit reservedly with my mind weighing the possible
outcomes of more skin contact. Being that he didn’t have mahdra, my hypothesis was
there’d be little to no reaction. Also, wasn’t going to bother asking him if he
minded touching me or not. At this point, he knew what he was proposing.

Standing, he held out a clawed hand, the table top coming to mid-thigh. Hopping up,
my lower stomach making contact with the table, I made a move to grasp his wrist,
forearm, whatever to get this little custom out of the way so I could go barbarian
with not one sword, but two. His hand went under my sleeve, past the obscuration
spells. Taking my lower arm firmly in his grasp, I simultaneously braced myself and
took his.

And…nothing happened. It was relieving. Truthfully, the tension drained just as my

shoulders eased at that moment. Oddly enough, I felt normal.

He, on the other hand, looked taken aback.

“What?” I asked, retracting my arm.

He ran a hand over one of his horns. “Nothing. Your wrist is puny, that’s all.”

I snorted. “Yeah, and yours is a tree trunk.” I was already on the move and
rounding the table. This was going to be unreal.

Speaking from behind, Krule noted, “At least you have a fifth digit. It will help
with your grip.”

Frack. Looking down, the embroidered runes on my right hand sleeve weren’t working.
Quickly, reaching out with my senses, I made sure the hood’s spells were intact.
They were.

“Oops,” he said, with a shrug, mimicking my earlier word.

I had a feeling that this was premeditated. Was it payback for the manure, simple
curiosity, or something other, though? Pointing to him, I thought about what I was
going to say. I opened my mouth, then closed it. Eventually I settled on, “Touché.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he said.

“I know.” Walking over to the wall towards the blades, I whistled. I had
priorities, here. And they weren’t my dumb damn robe.

Chapter seventeen

Ihad slept, weirdly enough. And while I hadn’t managed to make it under the sheets,
I did happen to collapse on top of the mattress instead of splaying out on the
floor. Progress, I’d say. Especially after the epic cringe of last night.

See, after having messed around with Krule’s sword deluding myself into thinking I
was the next K’Vrok assassin, using both of my hands on a one-handed hilt built for
a jacked-up male, I ignored his amused looks and tried my best to maintain a
specific form that just wasn’t possible with my lack of muscle mass, even with my
sisterly enhancements.

“Do not dismay, Trick. You’ve surprised me with your knowledge of the K’Trov form.
If you had a blade forged specifically for your weight and height, I am confident
you would be able to hold and maneuver the first three phases with no problem,”
Krule had said kindly. Too kindly in my estimation. I was awful.

I handed his sword back and pulled out the chair he’d been sitting in, flipping it
around to plop down. “Then you do it. I’m wasting this opportunity. Show me the
seven blade forms of K’Trov.” K’Trov dealt in hand to hand combat, weapons training
with many different blades, strategy, and endurance under duress. Seventeen forms
with each seven degrees. It was beyond me.

He tucked his head and looked up with his eyes, the corner of his mouth raised.
With a hand coming up to rub the back of his large neck, he asked, “Truly?” As if
uncertain of my response.

“Yes. I’ve read so much about it. I would love to see it myself. Please.”

He nodded, then looked around. “K’Vroken practice in spaces of all sizes to master
their form. This should do well to showcase tight quarters, kevik rounds.”

“Okay,” I breathed. This was happening.

And then he set down the one sword, unclasped his robe, and placed it on the floor
near the wall. No shirt on. That done, he grabbed both gladiator blades and held
them outward extending his arms, tips pointing diagonally down. “These smaller
blades are good for hiding under the cloak. My klayvore nix blade is much larger
and can deal out much more destruction.”

Holy. Shit. I barely heard him.

And then he began moving. There was no slow start or buildup to a faster pace. He
vrekking ripped through the air as if he was berserk and had to annihilate an
unseen enemy. My jaw had already dropped due to his uncovered physique. Then I lost
my breath. K’Vrok books had nothing on what I was seeing. The air around me moved
as if a fan were on me at speed, my robe flapping as he danced an unfathomable
dance of death and decimation.

Yes, I had been staring. It had even started in admiring, I’ll admit. But watching
a K’Vroken of the warrior caste practice in front of me had me losing my train of
thought. I became dumb. And once I remembered to inhale, I became a mouth breather.
Not leering. Not thinking any thoughts, good or bad. Just struck stupid.

He stopped. I believe he may have said something. He raised a brow as a slow smile
began to form at the corner of his mouth.

“Uhhhh.” I stood up, the chair tipped and fell behind me. Fanning myself, only due
to the brazier’s nearby heat, nothing more, I opened my mouth to speak. Took a few
tries. “It’s hot. Sorry, I’m tired, too. But thank you. That was really…nice,” I
squeaked. And then I promptly turned around, activated my hidden apartment door,
and left the K’Vroken alone in the library to see himself out.

Yes. Like I said: Epic. Cringe.

Funny enough, upon hearing my words, the mahdra enhanced hearth instantly spun
itself into book form again and trailed me, floating at my back, and then sat
itself on the foot of my mattress following my lead. Burying my face in the
pillows, I screamed out just slightly.

Eventually, mercifully, I fell asleep.

And now I was awake. New dawn. New day. Denial at an all-time high after a full
night’s sleep. Today would go better. Last night wasn’t that bad. I was sure Krule
was cool with what happened. I mean, I was. Nothing even occurred.

I groaned, immediately shoving a breakfast roll in my mouth.

With the fire book in my left arm and a well rested manic bounce in my late morning
step, I snatched a dozen more rolls from the kitchen space. Proceeding to shove
them in my pockets, I traipsed downstairs to the first floor, plopping myself in a
conveniently provided chair within the massive circle of the Keeper’s desk.

Rescoven, having seen me, tilted his head to acknowledge my presence. Though
currently, he was writing, his back turned toward me.

Ignoring decorum as usual, choosing to forget about what happened with Krule, I
shoved down yet another roll, and said around the food as I chewed, “Red Giant here
slept with me last night.” I patted the crimson flame book on my lap. Perhaps he
was my good luck charm for rest since I had managed to fall asleep and stay asleep
past morning.

Without turning around and still writing, Resco said absently, “I thought his name
was Krule.”

It took me a second. Sputtering, I choked and then began coughing up a fit.

Eventually turning, Rescoven peered over his glasses with a raised brow. “Oh, you
mean the book.” He waved the quill in his hand as if brushing off what I had said.
“You feed them too much.” He was back to writing again.

Gradually, the choking subsided. Able to breathe properly, wiping the moisture from
my eyes, I said, “So it’s true. My power really is upping the strength of the
hall?”

“Yes. The books have been behaving differently lately, having a mindset to
interpret my spellwork in unforeseen ways. Adding to your automatic power transfer,
you’ve been giving them a vast amount of attention and feeding them too much, and
too often.”
“I’m the same with them. And I thought the library’s walls themselves, connected to
that sacred stone of yours, was skimming off of me. Not the actual books.”

“Yes, and no. You are voraciously reading as usual, yes. Petting them, talking to
them, singing to the books—that is a new development. You are transferring energy
in addition to Vahlta Hall doing its job. After our discussion about the incident
with Court Master Durath, you must have noticed.” He cast me a mild look of reproof
over his shoulder, but I didn’t miss the humorous turn to the side of his mouth.
“No matter, I can fix it.” Flicking his wrist, mahdra coalesced as he casually
turned back to his parchment.

Red Giant began to rise, trembling.

“The hell you don’t, Resco,” I said, snatching the book right back. “He’s perfectly
fine the way he is.” Glaring at his shoulders, I noticed them shake slightly.
“You’re messing with me. Geez, you’re in an interesting mood. And last night, too.
Thanks for abandoning me, by the way.”

“I live to serve,” he intoned, graciously. “Also, your pet K’Vroken seemed to have
let himself out of the hall last night without incident after you abandoned him. In
case you were wondering.”

“Of course I’m not wondering. I had it handled.” My cheeks went red.

“Mmhmm.”

Ugh. Pulling up the chair to his, I decided to move on. In fact, I had been
thinking about this particular something for quite some time during the rains last
night, before the K’Vrok dropped by. “So, I need your help on something.”

At this, Rescoven stopped his work. Work that I could now see looked to be an in
depth linguistic examination of the Xyclanov document from last night.

Ha. Document.

Placing the quill down, turning toward me, he gave me his full attention.

And then I explained everything, it only taking but a few minutes. “I know it’s
probably really simple compared to what you’re used to,” I said with a shrug. “But
I figured I’d get your input, and if you agree, your help.”

Raising a brow, he said, “I am here for you and will support you in the path you
choose. If you want my opinion, however—”

“I do.”

“Then I think it is admirable, your willingness to go above and beyond. But it will
add layers to your life, a life that you may wish to remain quiet.”

I waved that off. “I know, and I think you know, we’re past the simple life. That
ship has sailed.”

“Yes, well, if we are being forthright, that ship never even came to port here at
TreValla. With you, it was never simple.”

“Yup. You have a point.”

“I will work on it immediately. I think it’s a fine way to complicate things. If

anything, it will add some excitement,” he said, standing and then heading to a
drawer at the rear portion of the desk.

I let out a laugh. “What? I bore you now?”

Precisely, without needing to rifle, he pulled out a large scroll of parchment.

“Not at all, but should you need to rule all of Haell—”

“Yes, yes. You’ll be there supporting me in my quest for world domination.”

Uncharacteristically, he gave me a single pat on the head. Then he sat down. “Yes.
It should take but a few days.”

To rule all of Haell. I rolled my eyes.

He began drafting. Minutes passed as I read the words over his shoulder, taking
mental notes. He was good. This was way more comprehensive and masterfully
engineered than anything I could have hoped to come up with.

As I continued to soak in his unfathomable superiority with words and paper,

flawless art from my perspective that would require intense concentration, he
caught me off guard as he stated nonchalantly, “I have a book for you, Trick. I had
it spelled awhile ago, but I think it would be appropriate to have you carry it
with you from now on.”

Blinking a few times, I eventually spoke. “Right. On.” I said, my heart doing a
flip. This sounded like a present in the best form. “Where is it? Have I read it
before? Want me to go retrieve it while you work?” I asked, a tad overzealous.

“It’s spelled to look like a copy of a tome already here—probably one you already
read. I’ll just summon it.” He finished a line, lifted his head pausing his work,
and muttered a word quickly.

Within seconds, a small book careened down from the second floor, fluttering its
pages like wings, lapped the desk twice, and then settled down to hover right in
front of me. It did a mid-air shimmy and the original brown leather cover
immediately changed over to silver, with silver-edged paper. No bigger than my
hand, the book was adorable.

I said as much.

Rescoven, lifting a brow, gave me a look. “It is spelled to be blank. Whatever you
write in it will be communicated to me.”

I plucked it out of the air. Red Giant on my lap began warming up, so I gave him
another pat just so he knew I didn’t have a favorite, here. He calmed again. “Nice.
So we can text each other?” I used the English term.

“Assuming that is a form of written communication, then yes. If things need to be

brought to my attention or if you need assistance in any way, please write in the
book with your quill. I’ve added a few minor spells to it. Its ink will be absorbed
and disappear once the words have been read by me.”

Got it. Probably wouldn’t be documenting my mundane observations throughout the day
to him. Pretty sure he had a limit.

Opening the book, I breathed and whispered, “Twinkle, Twinkle, lady star you are
gorgeous.” Metallic silver throughout, she was a shiny little thing. Lady Silver. I
think I would call her Lady Silver.
Hearing a noise, I glanced up.

Rescoven, the no-nonsense intellectual he was, gave me another look. He had placed
his quill down. “You are doing it again.”

“Doing what?” I asked, throwing him a sideways glance. Lady Silver’s pages were
crisp and thick and I ran my fingers over them, including the sharp corners,
relishing in the feeling, like fingernails running down your spine, tingly and
soothing.

“You are feeding the books.”

“I don’t think I am,” I said.

“You are.”

Chin lifting, ready to argue and narrowing my eyes, I paused. “Fine, you’re
probably right. But it’s unconsciously done.” With a free hand, I took out another
buttery roll and proceeded to eat. “Besides, I thought your books were your
children.”

He folded his hands on his lap. “Meaning?”

“That you’d want to feed them is all. They’re not just soldiers. They need love,
too.” I blinked at him innocently, taking delight that my smirk was hidden. A few
bread crumbs toppled down past my hood’s spellwork. Funny how I wasn’t afraid of
his unique Keeper’s reprisal anymore.

His ear twitched. Ha.

Exhaling, he said, “Make sure to take it with you from now on. Your pockets will be
deep enough for transport.”

“Her—not it,” I corrected him, now patting both my gentle Red Giant and Lady
Silver.

Ignoring my last remark, his eyes caught on my sleeves. “What happened to your
embroidery?”

“Krule happened. He needed to shake hands in the K’Vrok way to entrust me with
handling his Nix swords,” I said, with a shrug.

“K’Vroken do not make contact with others.” He raised a brow at this. Resco would
know more than me. “And they also don’t lend their swords. Let me see, then,” he
said, indicating the sleeves.

Placing both books on my lap, I pinched the few crumbs that had fallen on my legs
and tossed them into a nearby, pristine waste bin. As much as I enjoyed making
Resco’s ears twitch, I, myself, wasn’t comfortable with allowing crumbs to fall on
the gorgeous, green floor. Obediently, I did as he asked and raised my arms.

Speaking mostly to himself, he said, “Most of the material foundation capable of

holding a spell has been damaged. I can redo it, but not well. We will have to
rewrite it nightly before we can get you a new robe.”

“Is that a lot of trouble?” I asked, feeling slightly guilty.

His head snapped back. “No, of course not,” he said. “But my preferred medium is
not fabric.” He began tracing the embroidery with a fingertip. “Were there any
unforeseen reactions when you made skin contact with the K’Vroken, I wonder?”

“No, nothing at all.”

He nodded as if that was expected. Done analyzing my sleeves, turning he grabbed a

small coiled piece of parchment and began writing, mimicking the robe’s runes. Soon
he was done. Facing me once again, he placed the long, but thin, paper on the
bottom hem of the sleeve wrapping it and spoke Sahven. The ink slowly began to fade
and as I looked, leached onto the broken embroidered spell below activating its
original intent. I was betting it was pretty tricky to do considering the material
was nearly inert in terms of holding mahdra.

Krule had done a number on it. Effortlessly.

Robe set, Rescoven and I talked. I explained the past day to him, some information
I had already given to him when I asked about the favor he was currently working on
for me. As he wrote, I rehashed the meeting with Durath, and subsequently, the
meeting with Lord Theros. If anything surprised or worried him, it wasn’t the
meeting with the Sahven Lord or his gran-nephew.

Which confused me some. It led me to ask about his lack of concern.

“Durath views me as a cunning, distant relation and prefers to keep a side eye on
me while he serves another," he said with a subtle upturn to his mouth. "And
powerful people will gravitate toward the mighty, Trick. This is expected. Why do
you think you were attracted to Vahlta Hall?”

“Looking back, I think I was led here by the Sisters,” I answered, truthfully.

“Yes, extremely powerful Celestials who knew of my dedication, service, and

capability. They would not have led you here if I was not significant enough to be
your ally. With that in mind, the key players on Haell will all eventually know
your name, I’m sure of it. So it’s only natural for someone like you to have spoken
to Lord Theros privately. They may not know your true nature as of yet, they may be
unaware of the power that roils and churns within you, but they certainly feel the
pull of it—the pull you carry.”

It’s not like he hadn’t said something similar to me before. Just last night he was
talking about darkness following the light and the sick seeking healers. Something
I realize just now, that I didn’t want to go into.

“Hey, since the embroidered spells on my sleeves are intact again, why don’t I just
recharge it like I do the books, since apparently that’s something I do now? Won’t
that save you the trouble of rewriting it nightly?”

Shaking his head, he answered, “It is too fragile. One push from your well of power
and the entire robe could vaporize around you. Just don’t pet and sing to your
sleeves, and I believe you shall be covered for the day.”

“Alrighty, good to know,” I said, with big eyes. Vaporize? That would be something
I’d make sure to avoid. Last thing I wanted was to vaporize my robe, have it
consume my clothes underneath, and end up jumping across the city, streaking the
citizens of TreValla.

Haell didn’t need another moon.

Pondering that for a turn, I ended up reading Red Giant to pass the time after
that. Recognizing I wasn’t in need of warmth at the moment, he allowed me to feast
on his insides, sans the blood and gore. His spine and cover were left blank, apart
from the embossed flame on the front, but the inside revealed a page that titled
itself right before my eyes. It read, Mahdra Infused Haellfire and Its Historical
Agricultural Uses.

Random, but okay.

Chapter eighteen

Having spent quite some time in companionable silence with Resco as he worked, I
heard someone clear their throat. Reading a chapter chronicling a devastating
scourge from a scarab-like infestation that happened years ago on the southern
peninsula of Savos, I looked up. Braghen and Jero stood awkwardly in the atrium
underneath the stained glass dome amidst the scholar tables on the ground floor.
Jero, it seemed, couldn’t make up his mind to either look toward me at the center
desk, upward taking in the shocking vaulted ceiling, or at the Keeper’s rules
ominously forged on the plinth of the eerily waving, descending sands of the
hourglass.

“Oh, hi,” I said, standing and closing the book with a kind pat. “Guys, this is
Keeper Rescoven of Vahlta Hall. Resco, this is Braghen and Jero.”

Red warmed again, this time seeming a bit insistent. Quietly, I said, “I can’t take
you with me—you’re too big. Sorry.” Placing him on the desktop, I added, “Maybe I
can find a satchel while I’m out today, though.” Politely grabbing the pretty
little thing that was Lady Silver, I stuffed her in my robe pocket.

“Is she having a conversation with a book?” I heard Jero mumble, Braghen shushing
him.

“I have finished, Lady Trick. You may take the document now if you like,” Rescoven
said. He had concluded his work while I was reading and rolled the parchment and
tied it for me. It sat off to the side. He was back to working on the Xyclanov text
with the straight posture of the fastidious librarian that he was. He chose to
ignore the males standing and waiting for me.

“Wow. That was fast. Thank you,” I said, managing to pocket it, though the yellowed
end stuck out a couple of inches from my black garment.

“As always, my pleasure, Lady Trick,” Resco replied. “Utilize the silver tome as is
necessary. Recharging it won’t be a problem since you seem to be…taking care of the
books so well.”

I snorted at that.

Passing the dumbstruck males, I headed to the double doors and gave each flanking
stone bouncer a roll I had saved for them in my other pocket. “Bruiser, Dave,” I
said, nodding my head to each. Neither moved. No matter. It was there when they
wanted it then.

“You coming?” I called. Jero and Braghen quickly snapped to and followed me out. It
wasn’t until we were fully back in the lowers when their dazed, introspective
silence broke.
“I heard that that Keeper has taken someone’s arm off before,” Jero said, casting
funny looks my way, seeing if I already knew of Vahlta Hall’s reputation.

“Honestly never seen that happen, but if Resco did, pretty sure the guy was a piece
of shivit and deserved it.”

Jero laughed out. “Maybe we should read more, Braghen. Seems like the Keeper has
the same justice system as the CM. Probably be good to make allies.”

Leaving out the fact that Court Master Durath was related to Rescoven, I quickly
changed the subject and asked about Nika and her thoughts on the book I had Braghen
deliver to her last night. The big male beamed and began a conversation with me in
his native tongue. Genuinely delighted to recount her reaction last night, which
was one of exuberance, he explained that she wouldn’t stop reading to him about the
living groves to the south. He also mentioned that he hadn’t had much time himself
to read the book that I had picked out for him, but had plans to.

After, he passed a letter addressed to me written by Nika herself. Reading as we

traveled downward, I eventually finished and folded the letter with a surprised
smile. Nika wanted me to take her out the next week and walk the city in our robes
together. She didn’t want Brag to know. Ha. I’d lament at how my obvious bad
example was already staining her pure ways, but I realized I didn’t care. Perhaps
I’d get her proficient on the roofs and we could go caped crusader together.

Lost in my thoughts, we eventually made it to the working lowers. Stopping

intermittently to talk to different dock masters, we peered out at the waters and
analyzed the moored ships and those lingering in the bay. None were made with dark
wood or blackwood. Though the suns were shining and the weather seemingly pleasant,
the air was thick and humid from yesterday’s deluge. The streets midtown and higher
were clean and cleared from the rains no doubt, but it all ended up in the nooks
and crannies of the lowers, if it hadn’t made it into the bays already. It stunk.
And the citizens and animals alike were in a foul mood.

Hours later, ready to head uptown with no new intel despite combing through what
seemed to be the entire shoreline, a fight broke out. Folding my arms, I leaned on
a nearby shaded wall as I watched Jero and Braghen intervene. A Xyclanov and a
Falk, both dock workers by the looks of it, battled it out with fists, soon
progressing into a wrestling match that was teetering on the edge of a dock. A
small crate got jostled into the water with a splash, with more people getting
involved. Yelling, the foreman was soon the loudest, threatening termination to all
on his crew due to profit loss.

A couple workers jumped into the water below to retrieve the goods.

Absently playing with my drongo quill in my pocket since the situation didn’t need
an interpreter for the curse words being thrown out, it took me by complete
surprise as I got yanked backward into a doorway that led into the warehouse.
Blinking a few times, attempting to get used to the darkness, I ineffectively tried
to extricate myself. Didn’t work. In a shadowed section blocked by towering crates,
I was shoved to the ground. Landing on my knees, I quickly flipped around and
backed up. Above me, a towering gray male began to undo his pants.

“Female is female,” he growled.

Stunned. I couldn’t think.

And then I was terrified. Power spiking, I immediately panicked and tried to lock
it down. As I couldn’t rely on a nuke for self-defense, I screamed instead. Just as
the unwashed male lunged for me, a few things happened: I heard Braghen and Jero
round the corner, their voices frantic and calling my name; I realized Lady Silver
was struggling to fly out of my robe’s pocket, and I saw Krule jump down from the
ceiling rafter and reach over the male’s face in a savage blur, grab the Falk’s
upper teeth, and proceed to rip off the guy’s head with his bare hands.

Sapphire blood spurted over me as the body collapsed onto my vulnerable supine
form. Krule’s face was filled with rage. The head with its dislocated jaw dangling
blinked twice then stopped, still in Krule’s hand.

Skidding to a halt, Jero and Braghen took the scene in, their eyes in complete,
horrified shock.

Panting with adrenaline, Krule growled out, “I invoke the right of conference
according to the Roven agreement between K’Vroken and Sahven. I stand on this soil
as a leader of my people, and have not lifted my blade in violence, as you can
tell.”

Semantics, there.

Scooting away and awkwardly pushing the body off of me, I tried to get my head in
the game. Head? I forced down a stressed laugh. Now was not the time. “He cites
Haell’s defense of the vulnerable for his actions,” I said, then listed off the
year in which the precedent became law.

Krule, who hadn’t taken his eyes off me, added, “Yes. What she said. I will speak
to Lord Theros.”

Eyes wide and staring at the body more than us, Jero quickly got out a piece of
spelled parchment and looked around as if stunned, or appalled. Braghen pulled me
to the side and proceeded to kick the body off of me completely. “Are you okay?”
Braghen asked me just as Jero asked him, “Do you have a quill?” Both looked awful
like they were about to be sick. Jero cursed, but looked my way to get my answer to
Braghen’s question.

I nodded to both. “Here,” I said, standing up a bit shakily and reaching for my
drongo feather. The front of my robes squelched as I located it and held it out for
Jero. There was some blood transference on it. Oops.

Just then the body, naked from the waist down, apart from the pants at the ankles,
began to convulse. I moved away immediately. Krule, having just noticed what he
still held in his massive hand, chucked the gaping head off to the side. Landing
with a thud it tried to roll, however, the exposed glopping vertebrae stopped the
movement.

“That is a nice quill,” Krule remarked.

Jero gagged to the side then scrawled his message and handed the feather back to
me.

I watched the correspondence fly off a bit distractedly. Good thing the guys had
received a promotion because the spelled parchment had come in handy just now.
Realizing what had just been said in my direction and, given the situation,
suddenly uncaring of any embarrassment from the night before, I looked back up at
Krule. Surprised and pleased with the change of subject with his observation I
replied, “I know, right?”

Krule nodded and sidled closer. “Must have come from a stud drongo. Rare to find,
but prized by my people.”
“Yeah, the Keeper isn’t a fan. He says it’s undignified.” I shrugged, a bit
woodenly. “But I think I’m slowly changing his mind. You can’t find this color
anywhere, I’ve looked. Well, I’ve window shopped,” I clarified. “The highborn have
nothing like it…not that they desire anything like it.”

“Sahven tastes run decadent and their aesthetic flourishes, tacky. I’m not
surprised that simple utility isn’t something they strive for,” Krule remarked.

“Simple utility, sure. But a godlike color,” I said.

“Yes, your drongo blue is very unique. The fresh blood that covers you now can’t
even match it. Though it begins to muddy up very quickly once it has been spilled.”

“Oh. I did not know that.” I looked down. My black robe appeared no different.
Soaked for sure, though.

Clearing his throat, Braghen warily eyed Krule before looking down at me,
apparently choosing not to add anything to the extremely relevant quill
conversation. “Did he hurt you?” He gestured to the dead guy.

Shaking my head, I verbally recounted what the man said, however. All three of them
didn’t react well, Jero and Brag’s expressions going from utter shock, eventually
hardening to a mixture of anger and disgust. Me? It was pretty accurate to say I
was in shock, as well. Not so much for the near assault—I’d had a few close calls
on Haven with the nasty no-neck Girth—but more appalled by my lack of action.

I had done nothing.

I must have voiced some of my thoughts aloud.

“Nonsense, we should have been there to protect you,” Jero said, through clenched
teeth.

“Yes, you should have. I thought that was your job as she is an official consultant
to the Black Line,” Krule whipped out, harshly.

“Whoa, calm down,” I said, interrupting all of their suddenly raised voices. “I’m
fine. And I’ve read enough on hand to hand combat that I should have been able to
do something.” Though to be fair I had no physical training whatsoever, just a crap
ton of untested knowledge. Also, I’d been too busy trying to keep a lid on the
world ender inside of me that I completely blanked on acting out in some form of
self-defense.

Frowning to myself as I ruminated on how I did everything wrong, what I could have
done to have stopped it, and how I’d definitely react in the future, I realized
that quite some time had passed and the males were aggressively conversing,
suspicion and questions being thrown around the secluded space, along with dry
heaves from Brag and Jero.

Past the stacked inventory, I heard the muffled conversations of the dockworkers
that were telling people to stay back. No doubt there had been an order issued by
someone to keep the scene clear. Someone vomited, then a few more puked in
succession. Whether it was from the body or Krule’s presence, I didn’t know which.

The guys with me, apart from the hardened K’Vroken, didn’t look too hot, either.

Immediately, my head snapped up. Jero asked Krule what his name was for the record.
Not wanting to chastise Jero for such a diplomatic reckless act, I put my hands up
to calm Krule. Speaking in K’Vrok, I said, “Please don’t hurt him, he doesn’t know
not to ask for a name. He’s my friend.” Eyes narrowing in confusion, I added, “Hey,
where are your swords?”

There was a pause.

Krule, casting Jero a look full of malice, closed the already small space between
us. “I am her friend. We met while investigating the disappearances. Anything more
I will speak to Lord Theros,” he addressed both of them in Common. To me, with a
glimmer in his dark eye, he said in K’Vrok, “They’re hiding on a certain spelled
rooftop. Nix blades in the light of day are harder to hide.”

Nodding, I knew exactly which rooftop he spoke of. He had probably been monitored
every step of the way by Rescoven. Even so, the old keeper had allowed it.

Moments passed.

“Are you okay with him standing so close to you?” Braghen asked me warily off to
the side in PyRoch.

I nodded. “Thank you,” I added in his language. Honestly, if I had said no, there
was nothing Braghen nor Jero could have done about the hulking K’Vrok next to me. I
appreciated that he had asked, however.

In the background, commanding voices emerged over the subdued warehouse sounds. A
few moments later, Court Master Durath made his way to our hidden section behind
the crates. More Black Line members stood behind and out of sight.

“I got your message,” he said, with a head tilt toward Jero. Crossing his arms he
looked down at the body, then peered up at me. “Are you hurt?”

“No, just drenched in copious amounts of blood, is all.” I lifted my sleeves. “Can
you help with that?” He’d done something of that nature at the morgue, so why not
here? Frowning he flicked his wrist, his mahdra flowing over me in an instant. With
some relief, I felt lighter, free from the blue coagulating blood that had soaked
through to my skin. “Thanks,” I said, enjoying the clean feel.

“You’ll still want to launder those later,” he said before he turned and began
questioning his men, his eyes never leaving the K’Vroken. He had little to no
reaction being around Krule’s power, at least as far as I could tell. Jero and
Braghen began speaking and telling their side of the story.

Krule wasn’t questioned. It seemed as though Durath knew the protocol for a foreign
diplomat and sworn enemy. You let the boss deal with it.

After dismissing a few Black Line members to the back of the unit due to their
repeated gagging in the presence of the K’Vroken, finally the CM got to me. He
asked for my perspective on the event.

“Honestly, there’s not much to tell. I was leaning on the wall outside watching the
fight from a distance when I got pulled from behind. I was dragged in from the side
door there,” I pointed to the somewhat hidden threshold amidst the towering crates,
“And he pushed me down. I screamed. And then,” I waved my hand over the corpse’s
trouser-less backside, “That happened.”

“Jero told me what he said to you,” Durath frowned, deep in thought. Seemingly
coming to a conclusion, he lifted his head and said, “Right, we’re headed up top.
Braghen, stay here with the clean up crew and question everyone in the warehouse. I
expect detailed reports. Jero, you will accompany Trick as we make it back up the
hill. Lord Theros will undoubtedly need to speak with her in addition to our…guest,
here.”

Both Durath and Krule had their arms crossed.

At this, Durath walked up and examined Krule who was still standing by me. “I
expect that your weapons will not be drawn and you will willfully accompany us as
you have requested conference with the Lord of the Black Line?” he asked in Common.
There was a pause, then Krule nodded, minutely. Even though he was without his twin
Nix blades, he was still most likely armed under the robe he wore.

My thoughts: who needed a blade if you could just rip off body parts?

“Very, well,” Durath said, turning around and walking off towards his men. “Heads
are going to roll when the Council hears about your presence K’Vroken.” He stopped,
realizing what he said.

“You mean other than this one?” I pointed. I couldn't help it.

Krule’s mouth tipped up wickedly as he looked down at me. At least someone thought
I was funny.

Chapter nineteen

They split us up. Tugging me by the arm, Jero led me up toward a rooftop path to
the compound. Gone was his joking demeanor, he scanned the area around us as if
expecting another attacker any moment. Peering back, CM Durath and his rather large
retinue of agitated Black Line men surrounded Krule as he emerged from the
warehouse, uncovered from his cloak’s hood. His back was straight, his bearing
menacing, but loose.

His eyes made contact with mine.

I gave a small wave before Jero tugged me past a smoke stack and my view of Krule
disappeared. From a side street to my right a male’s voice rang out, sputtering in
terror, crying, “Balyach! The balyach!” He vomited on the run. Multitasker.

Word was spreading already. The balyach was Haell’s boogeyman, their shared
nightmare fable. The shadow demon. And apparently to them, Krule was the Balyach
incarnate. Even the halitosis Splat had used the term before he had jumped. Not a
good sign for peaceful diplomacy.

Making my way to the compound, I trodded behind Jero’s heels dutifully, but
distractedly. Nearly empty of men, word had undoubtedly reached the place before we
did. Jero led me to the mess hall and sat me down with a look.

“Please stay here. You’ll need to be available to Lord Theros when he calls on
you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, already knowing this.

This time, Jero let out a sigh. “I’m going to get us some food. You want anything
in particular?”
“Bread is good. In any form. Round, sliced, buttered, layered, glazed—”

Laughing, his demeanor lightened somewhat now that we—I was safe. “Fine. I’ll put
some protein and fresh produce on there, too,” he said, as he walked off.

“No mystery meat,” I called out. Weird that I didn’t protest the food given what
had just happened to me, but then I shrugged too tired to care.

Sitting there, the fireplace in the corner unlit, I scanned the room. All the
tables were empty except for a few uniforms dotting the benches, hunched over their
trays. Drumming my fingers with nothing else to do, my mind was on many things and
none of them pertained to eating at the moment. Between Krule’s fate here on Sahven
lands, my poor performance in a time of action, or my general annoyance of having
to wait around and answer to someone who may or may not see me in the next four
hours regardless of what I revised in our light courtesy contract, I was stuck. And
angsty.

And then a thought came.

Whipping out Lady Silver and my quill, I began writing, relaying everything
relevant. Pausing, the ink wasn’t disappearing so Rescoven had yet to read it. No
matter. The process was cathartic, at least temporarily. Which was just what I
needed at the moment.

Jero came back with two trays and placed them on the table.

“You’re in luck, the cook on duty right now is known in the compound for his
pastries. He’s a grumpy draven’s ass and usually only makes two batches, but
tonight, with everyone out to catch a glimpse of the K’Vroken, I was able to snatch
up all these,” he said, already chewing one and nodding down to the bounty on our
trays. “Try one.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Grabbing one, still warm from the oven, I took a bite. Head
falling back, I breathed, “Perfection.”

“I know,” he garbled.

We continued to eat together, the food warm and filling. Keeping my eye on the
silver book and her opened pages, soon I saw the ink sinking in and disappearing.
Pausing my meal, I read a response from the keeper. Wiping my mouth with my sleeve,
I picked up the drongo quill as Resco’s ink began to fade, and wrote a short
response telling him that I was fine, and no, I didn’t need Resco to take care of
my attacker. Krule had done it for me.

Going back and forth for a few minutes, my words and thoughts focused more on the
political aftermath for Krule and wondering how he was going to fare. Eventually I
resumed eating again, pleased with being able to communicate with someone more
knowledgeable than I.

Resco didn’t think Krule could be deported, or worse, killed. In fact, if I read
the flavor of his words correctly, the gist of the political situation was that the
Sahven would be crapping their ivory pants. War was not something they were
prepared for, too consumed with infighting and power plays within the council as of
late. But war was something the K’Vroken prepared for endlessly with unrelenting
dedication. With the soon to be disclosed abduction of a K’Vroken fisherman, Sahven
lands broke the peace treaty.

Smiting off, or in this case ripping off, the head of a would-be rapist was just
desserts for the attacker, and trivial politically. Death to all rapists, or would-
be rapists, was a standard operation on all of Haell—something which I had read,
but with my vague approximation of an Earthly upbringing, experiencing inequality
firsthand and aware of the laughable, corrupt justice system there, I didn’t have
too much faith in Haell’s justice no matter how many documents I had read.

But my worry was for naught. According to Rescoven, Krule may actually be
compensated as if taking care of a rodent infestation, or preventing a future one.
Sometimes I forgot that I was living on such an efficient, brutal world.

Of course proper investigations were necessary to condone head removal, but that
was Braghen’s task. And I wasn’t worried about Braghen and his job performance. I
was more concerned about Jero at the moment.

“What,” I said around my food. “What’s wrong?”

“Your hand.”

Well, trick.

The embroidered spell on my sleeve apparently tuckered out and now my hand and its
five digits were unveiled and free. Was it the brutal beheading that occurred right
over me and my robe? The spell Durath performed to clean them?

“Damn,” I said, curling my fingers up in the fabric a bit. But then I shrugged and
resumed eating because, one, I was suddenly hungry, and two, what else was I
supposed to do about it? Go find a broom closet and hide? That was dumb and a bitch
move.

No, actually. I’d tell Resco. Make him worry about it.

Quickly, I wrote down my latest dilemma and added the end punctuation with a
flourish. There. I did my part.

Jero, nearly finished with his food, nodded hesitatingly at Lady Silver. “I’ve
never seen a spell designed to do that. Did the Keeper give that to you to use?”

“Yeah, pretty cool, huh?”

Nodding, he gave a disbelieving laugh, eyes wide. I realized then that a spelled
book like this was beyond the scope that most people had ever encountered. It was
probably worth more money than they’d ever come across in their entire lives.

Reaching to close Lady Silver, I read the response Resco wrote back about my sleeve
malfunction. “Very well,” was all he wrote. Snorting, I realized he didn’t care in
the least. He probably foresaw this happening with his uncanny, mahdra vision. Or
maybe, just maybe, he was in closer communication with the Sisters than I thought.
After all, he did worship the Celestials.

Narrowing my eyes and pondering on that for a moment, my thoughts were soon
interrupted. Head turning, I eyed a uniformed male sauntering over to stand by Jero
on his side of the table. Previn. Pausing my hand, bracing myself, I clenched my
teeth. Apparently he and his group had moved in and had been sitting near us for a
while as the mess hall had now begun to fill up.

“Ah look, it’s the new female reject. And she’s pretending to write,” he said,
leaning on the table with his fists and peering into Lady Silver’s, now blank,
pages.
I wasn’t in the mood.

“Ah look, it’s the bitch from last night. And he’s pretending that he’s not about
to be punched in his dumb draven ass face,” I said, with an air of boredom, though
I was anything but. Plucking Lady Silver off the table, I closed her tightly and
placed her in my pocket. Adrenaline started coursing through my body in response to
my instant anger. Forget that he spit on me yesterday, this guy served as my poster
child for all the assholes that treated Nika terribly in this city.

Mouth wide open for a brief, disbelieving second, Jero burst out into laughter
directed at the male at his side.

“Listen up you disgusting, stunted mistake—I heard what happened today.” He gave me
a look of pretend pity. “You almost had a male. You were this close,” he said,
putting his fingers together, sneering. “But, oh well. Probably would have ended up
in just another undesirable being born.”

Jero was already up and pushing Previn off, cursing in his face. More than one
voice was raised, but I couldn’t tell what was being said by the onlookers. I was
seeing red and trying to smother it down. With a sick smile, Previn put his hands
up in mock surrender backing up. “It’s too bad his head was ripped off clean,” he
laughed, “you might have been able to share him with that other female reject that
we all know Officer Braghen keeps hidden in his—”

I lunged.

Clearing the top of the table and scattering the meal trays as I sprang, I leapt
like a feral makuula, wrapping my legs around his neck in a Movoken takedown,
flipping my weight around in the motion. Landing with a smack on my spine, I took
him down to the floor with me hard as I strangled the life out of his neck with my
legs, my arms smothering his gasping, shit spewing mouth.

The fucker.

Voices raged around us.

The only thing registering to me was the heaving and wheezing coming from Previn’s
mouth. Dodging blind punches to my face, and taking cracking hits to the ribs, he
kicked and bucked on the stone floor knocking over benches as I maintained my
unrelenting initial tackle, strangling being my pure focus. Having wildly wrestled
ourselves partially underneath a table, he soon settled on the priority of trying
to free his air pipe, but his hands proved ineffectual in trying to extricate
himself. This guy was a bitch. I was tiny compared to him.

“Have some pastry!” I gritted out, shoving the food from the floor in his face,
making sure to smash it all over, spreading it in his nostrils and eyes.

At some point, I recognized Jero’s voice over the din. “Do you tap out?” he asked
between his boisterous laughs, nearly yelling to be heard over the din. “Do you
acknowledge your loss?” Other voices barked and tried to interfere. I heard bets
going around.

“Hey,” I gritted my teeth, “you’re going to black out soon,” I warned. Previn’s
hands didn’t tap, they just kept trying to get out, to no avail. Having resumed his
bucking, I said, “So be it.” Doubling down with the fury of the stars behind me,
his fighting attempts began to slow and weaken. Soon, there was no movement.
Releasing gradually, my limbs felt locked, sore, and bruised. He was out cold. Not
dead, no. The Falk, and well, every male here on Haell was built sturdier than
that.
Voices hooted and yelled in encouragement.

“You just won your first match in the compound,” Jero said, smiling down at me and
holding his palm out to offer a lift up. Cautious all of a sudden, I took it while
staring at both of our hands meeting. “Too bad it wasn’t on fight night. We could
have won so much more.”

Breathing hard, adrenaline racing, I realized I had just recklessly educated myself
on the fact that there was no power transfer of mahdra with someone non-blessed—
with Previn, or with Jero just now. I probably should have inwardly chastised
myself for the accident, but I felt I didn't care too much. Truthfully, I was glad
I didn't have time to think about it before acting.

Readjusting my hood and tangled robe, which thankfully had stayed on, I asked, “You
bet on me? Why?” Looking around, I was shocked and a bit disconcerted with so much
attention on the chaotic scene, and well, me.

“You’re scrappy. I see it in the way you run over TreValla. Also, you’re friends
with a K’Vroken. You stopped him from tearing off my head today when I asked for
his name—should have known better on that one. And you’re name is Trick. You
exploded off that table,” he said, his tone elated and filled with satisfaction.

About to respond, the group of raucous guards and workers around me gradually grew
quiet. Following their eyes, I turned around and saw a burly PyRoch with his arms
crossed staring down at me. Judging from the attire, he was the cook.

“Uhhh,” I cast my eyes around visually taking in the mess. It didn’t look pretty.
“I will clean this up. I’m so sorry to have—”

“You—Trick,” he pointed at me. “I have never been so,” he looked around, “honored.”
He slapped his chest three times. “Your display was formidable. I will never forget
it.” And with that, he turned away and stomped back to the kitchens. Over his
shoulder, he called out, “The bread will be named after you from now on.”

Jaw dropping, I was floored. Looking around, I realized everyone else’s mouth was
open, too. That was…high praise. Those pastries were delicious.

Leaning down, Jero said, “That’s worth more than the money we won. I’ve never heard
him say more than three words together.”

“I thought he couldn’t speak. He just grunts,” someone else from the group said.

“And throws the kitchen knives at us,” another piped up.

“Wow,” I looked around again. “Well, he seemed nice.” Someone snorted at that. “I
still feel that I should clean up, at least.”

Jero shook his head, but someone else spoke up.

“Leave it to Previn. He lost. He will clean up the mess in his shame.”

Everyone seemed to agree with that as Previn’s limp form just lay there. With no
talk or worry about getting the healer for the loser in their eyes, the raucous
males began to disperse. Jero, finishing up with a few conversations and
transactions, led me to the exit with a grin on his face, and more coins to his
purse. He offered me more than half.

“No, thanks. Give it to Braghen so he can buy something for Nika,” I said, my eyes
already gazing off across the lower plaza. Hmm. No time like the present.

I began to march off.

“Wait! Trick, we have to stay close. We can’t leave yet,” Jero said, jogging a few
paces to reach me.

“I’m not leaving the compound. Theros can still question me.” If he got around to
it.

I heard a muttered curse. Jero, casting a look around making sure our conversation
wasn’t being overheard, said worriedly, “Lord Theros. And really, we should head
back. We can sit near the back stairs. There are a few chairs in the hallway—”

“I’m going to the healer.”

“Shivit, are you hurt?”

No.

“Yes,” I said aloud. Those cracked ribs fixed themselves even before Previn blacked
out, but Jero didn’t know that. And it seemed that he needed a reason to allow me
to wander. Besides, this worked out nicely. I had plans all day for this little
side quest, and now that the opportunity was here, I was going to take it.

Chapter twenty

“I’m an ass. I should have stepped in. Trick, I’m so sorry. I thought you had it
managed. I’m not used to females and I honestly forget sometimes that you are one,”
he said, running a hand over his scalp in agitation. He quickly stepped up his pace
and began leading the way to the healer’s building.

“I did have it,” I said, behind him. “And I didn’t want you to intervene. That
would have been super annoying if you did.”

He cast a worried look over his shoulder.

“Dude, calm down. I’m fine,” I said, hoping he heard the smile in my tone.

Minutes later, making it to the compound’s hospital, Jero held the door open with a
worried gesture as if I was falling apart at that very moment. Heading to the front
desk, Jero spoke for me. I allowed it. Waiting only a few moments, Soreth came down
himself. The scowling assistant thought this unusual. I didn’t. Having five fingers
like a Sahven and absconding like I did yesterday, I kind of figured something like
this would happen.

“I can follow Healer Soreth from here. Thank you, Jero,” I said, firmly. But I
realized he still felt horrible so I added, “Will you wait for me?”

Shoulders easing somewhat, he replied, “Of course.”

I nodded. Turning, I said to the healer and asked, “I hope patient twelve is doing
better? Do you need any interpretation services?” I wasn’t here for that but
figured I’d ask.

Soreth, seeming perplexed, answered, “I was under the impression that you needed my
healing capabilities?” He cast a quick, questioning look at the male at the desk,
the attendant shrugged, then Soreth zeroed back in on me. “But no, I’ve utilized
the Lord’s library here and have managed to sign a few rudimentary phrases. It has
been working well. Well enough, I suppose.” He turned and gestured to the end of
the hallway. “Shall we proceed to an examination room?”

“Perfect, yes.”

Trailing his blue healer’s robe, I followed him into a small area that looked less
like an examination room and more like an office full of shelving and filing
cabinets. He sat at the desk. I sat in the provided chair across. Having already
closed the door, I had felt mahdra envelope the space.

“Forgive me, but as a healer and you an established patient, I did a cursory scan
of your person and have found no injuries to report. I assume you need to speak to
me on another matter?” he asked slowly, eyes trying to gauge the situation, but
coming up short since my robe effectively blocked most body language and obviously
eliminated all facial cues.

“Yes. Was that a silence spell on the room that you just enacted?”

He nodded slowly, gauging my perceptiveness with mahdra. “We already have the
healer’s pledge of confidentiality between us. I figured you’d appreciate privacy
from others, as well. Also, very good at recognizing the spell. Not many people can
do that.”

Well, I didn’t recognize the mechanics of the spell like most mahdra scholars tried
to do. No. Me being me, I just felt it. And as the days passed, I was getting
better at feeling them around the city. But Soreth didn’t know that. At this point
his eyes gazed at me in the same curiosity he had the day before, if not even more
fervently.

“Are you a hybrid?” he asked suddenly, while still communicating in Common yet
using a Sahven term that was commonly used to discuss mixed races. It wasn’t meant
to offend. “Was it your mother or father who is Sahven?”

“Not a hybrid, no,” I said. I shook my head to prepare myself for what was coming
next. Honestly, I hadn’t really put too much thought into how I was going to
approach him. Probably should have done so. Either way, I was at the compound and
now was as good a time as any since I had time to spare before Theros. Funny how it
worked out.

Taking a deep breath and then blowing it out, I turned my neck to pop it, revving
up for what I had planned. I steepled my hands, narrowing my eyes, and then said,
“So, this is how this is going to go: I need to know why you do what you do. I have
asked a very knowledgeable person about you and have received an answer from him.
Now, I want to hear from you.” I gestured for him to proceed.

Handsome as he was with his Sahven and Falk features, his mouth gaped a bit
stupidly, stunned for a moment.

I needed to clarify. “Why work with Lord Theros treating his men and those in the
city for less pay than you’d make if you went uptown and worked directly for high
society?” I asked, as if it were my desk we were seated at, not his.

“I do not care about the compensation,” he said, affronted.

I snorted. “Everyone needs to eat.” Well, not me, technically. But we weren’t
talking about my weirdness.

Not yet…

“Yes. I know that. But I try to live my life as one of service. I will not demand
the exorbitant amounts of coin that others require in exchange for healing those
who need it in this city. Lord Theros pays me only what I need to live, and he
recognizes my devotion to helping those whether they are in his compound or outside
these walls. He does not insist I charge the typical high prices most healers do
inside the city…and outside of it, for that matter,” he said, heatedly. He was
truly off-put and offended now. I didn’t blame him. Why would he have to explain
himself to someone such as me?

Continuing, I nodded. “That’s what the consensus is on you. That you care.”

“And yet you act as if you don’t believe me,” he bit out. “What is this about?”

“I’m just getting my ducks all lined up here,” I said. His brow furrowed at my
indecipherable response, but I moved on. Leg starting to bounce, I asked, “Are you
as skilled as the pureblood Sahven healers?” Leaning back, he crossed his arms. He
gave me a look pretty much saying that he wasn’t continuing on this thread. In
fact, I would bet I was close to being thrown out. Getting to the heart of it, I
said, “See, I think you are skilled—incredibly skilled—especially for a city healer
who doesn’t discriminate and will heal all types of citizens, but, I don’t think
you can match their ivory asses in mahdra strength.”

Slapping his legs he stood up fluidly, and stated, “I’m done. You may see your way
out.” Honestly, he was still quite composed and polite despite my blatant
provocation and intrusiveness.

“No, no. I’m not done,” I stated politely, but firmly, ignoring his look of
offense. I knew I was being a tad arrogant and boorish…but I was also about to risk
a whole lot on this guy. “The way I see it, you’re limited in capability due to
your mahdra…storage tank.” Eh, the term worked. “You have considerable power, but
still it’s limited.”

He must have heard something in my tone. Slowly he began to sit, his eyes assessing
me, but still not coming up with an answer. “What are you getting at?”

“Can you heal a considerable cleft palate?” I asked immediately.

His shoulders seemed to lower as he visibly began to calm. “I see.” He looked at

his hands, then me, taking a moment before he met my hooded face, and answered,
“No, I cannot. The skill of reforming bone and skin from birth defects takes more
power than I have. Technically it can be done in tandem with another healer, but
the synchronization required is exact and not many healers can combine powers
without disastrous results. It’s a procedure that requires one attempt, as well. In
practice, mahdra healing is based on putting a body into a reset—returning it to
its healthy, original state. Healing defects from birth asks the cells to reform
and maintain a new state, which the body finds unnatural. Bones, muscles, vascular
tissue, and the epidermis layer likes to resist multiple mahdra manipulations when
it comes to transforming them into what they deem incorrect.” He paused. “I’m
sorry, Trick. It’s beyond me.” He looked at me with pity, staring at me as if he
now saw under my hood and why I was hiding.

His response was one I had already figured.

“Okay, let me rephrase. If you had the power, would you choose to heal a defect
from birth? Or would you claim that the untouchables should remain untouched since
the Gods deemed them unworthy and cast them off?”

His teeth clenched. “I believe my life’s work answers that question. I’d heal, and
I do heal, whomever I can. Damn the old laws, and damn the old discriminating dogma
this city is ruled under. If I could heal all, I would.” Glaring at me again, he
truly meant what he said.

“That’s what we thought,” I said with a nod, my leg resuming a bounce. After the
conversation with Braghen last night, I wanted to do this for Nika. Whatever she
chose, to get her lip changed or not, was her choice and she was beautiful,
regardless. But I felt that she deserved that choice to make and not have a 'what
if' hopelessly out of grasp due to finances, healer capability, or discrimination.
If she did, in fact, want it worked on, I wasn’t going to offer her or her brother
false hope. I would make sure it was an absolute. I would make sure this healer
could do it and was capable.

His irritation with me somewhat settling, it was clear his curiosity hadn’t as he
asked, “Who’s we?”

Waving a hand dismissing that subject, I pulled out the scroll that Keeper Rescoven
had drafted for me this morning. A bit crinkled, blood on the edge, and smelling
slightly of mystery meat, I rolled it out. It was particularly long and
fastidiously detailed.

“I’m not from Haell. I came here via a sunken Celestial gate under the city. And I
have the capability to up your Mahdra levels surpassing the power of the Sahven
pricks from up high. Read on and tell me how you wish to proceed. Any further
discussion requires a signature on this contract as I’m not willing to rely on the
healer-patient confidentiality relationship for anything else.”

He just blinked.

I gestured to the parchment. Finally, looking down, he rolled out the scroll and
began to read, casting suspicious and curious glances at me all the while.

Time ticked by as I waited silently.

Eventually, his glances became less wary and more full of cautious wonder. I could
see it on his face: What if she is telling the truth? The contract, is this
legitimate?

Scanning the room, I took in the simple filing system and hanging anatomy prints on
the walls. To my left, he had a drooping potted plant. A gravonis, by the looks of
it. Reaching over in curiosity, I felt the fuzzy leaves and then gave the poor
brown thing a little pat. Hang in there, bud.

It visibly perked, changed color, and grew about a meter.

Muttering a curse under my breath, I realized my room at home was eventually going
to swallow me if I didn’t get my oozing mojo under control. I was supposed to be
letting it out in the city, on the go. But you know, best laid plans and all…

Gradually the room darkened with the setting suns as his wall sconces lit, to make
up for the deficiency in light. Slouching by the time he spoke up, past
acknowledging and attempting to dislodge the blue and emerald spotted gravonis
tendril reaching for my sleeve trying to latch on, I peered up.
“Do you require a specific quill for a document such as this?” he asked softly,
measuring his words as if the gravity in the room had changed, eyeing his once
wilting plant obsessively swaying and playing with my robe.

I sighed inwardly. These guys and their contract quills, all pomp and circumstance.
“Yes,” I said, just as gravely. Pulling out the drongo, I smirked at his horrified
reaction.

“S-surely there is something more suited to the occasion—”

“Nay. My quill will mark this moment in history, Healer Soreth. Its majesty
reflects the new voyage we will embark on together. You, me,” I pointed, “and my
drongo quill makes three. So it shall be.” Satisfying sarcasm aside, I sounded so
stupid.

Say that five times fast.

Shoulders straightening, bestowing a regal nod, he said, “Very well, then.”

Apparently he liked the false, flowery speech. Taking my quill with reverence, he
signed without hesitation. As he handed over the feather with a formality that had
me rolling my eyes, I took it carefully so as to not brush fingers. And then I
signed just the same.

It was done. Mahdra swirling, I felt the contract seal his fate. He was bound to
Rescoven’s written word. As he had read the whole thing thoroughly, Soreth must not
have cared too much about the Keeper’s overwhelming rules binding him, or he at
least weighed his options and found the treat dangling in front of his nose beyond
appealing. The wonder in his eyes of having the chance of becoming stronger was too
much of a temptation.

For me, that was a good thing.

“H-how do we do this?” he asked carefully, hopefully.

“Well,” I began, rolling up the parchment. I paused before placing it back in my

pocket. It had a spell on it. Guessing at Rescoven’s intent, wondering if I was
truly reading it right, I ignored tying off the scroll. Leaning over, I tapped the
end of it twice on the desk. “Vahlta Hall?” Instantly it shot to the office
ceiling, coiling tightly, then dove and sped under the door's gap, trailing a faint
emerald green. I wondered if only I could perceive the hue of the Keeper's mahdra.

The room was quiet.

Soren’s eyes were impressed, but still waiting for me.

I cleared my throat and began again as if I totally knew that would happen. No
guesses here. “Well, if you don’t protest, I will hold your hand and go from
there.” No need to tell him I was just going to wing it. As I do. Cautiously, of
course.

“You may touch me, yes,” he said, with a nod. “As I do not know how I’ll react, let
me pull up my chair to yours.” He did so, bringing it around to mine, and sat
facing me. “How long do you think it will take to, enhance my mahdra?”

Shrugging expertly, I answered, “I’m thinking we start off small. I was planning on
multiple sessions to gradually…feel you out. I don’t want to do anything too fast
and hurt you.” Now that it was actually happening, my nerves started playing on my
fears of what if’s: what if he couldn’t handle my touch? What if I lost control? If
he began to vomit repeatedly, what then? Oh, and the old fear of, what if I blew
him up?

Maybe this was a bad idea after all...

His eyes were steady on my cloaked face. Gone was his wariness from before, his
confusion and incredulity from our initial discussion were replaced with rapt
interest, bordering on fervor. Having read most of the contract myself, I knew
Rescoven had weaved a work of art with his words. But witnessing Soreth’s reaction
after having viewed it? I realized that he was now sold. He believed. Without any
other evidence of my abilities other than what he already knew and guessed himself,
what he gained from the parchment, and what he saw in my Sahven-like fingers, he
believed.

Eh. Maybe he saw his plant grow, too.

Regardless, he was desirous of change. Made me question his reaction, a bit. Master
Durath was off-put by what happened between us. Rightly so, I would think. This guy
—this guy was eager. But then again, maybe it was just a difference in personality.
His physical reaction may very well differ from Durath’s, too, the more I thought
about it.

“Your perceptions on this, Healer Soreth? Should we start slow and minutely?” I
asked, honestly needing some reassurance.

“I will know how to answer that better after we begin, but yes, commencing with
caution would be wise.”

“Righto,” I said, cracking my fingers a bit, getting ready to proceed. Thing was,
consciously starting off small was still more than I had done to Master Durath. His
upgrade happened by accident. Though to be fair, I did manage to damn up my power
when it came to Lord Theros’s and my handshake. So I knew I was capable of learning
and controlling it.

I could do this. For Nika, I would do this.

Guessing at my resolve, he held out his hand, palm up. Without any more thought, I
smacked my palm down on his and held on. Instantly, power. Holding back on careful
instinct, I knew I had to release and allow my senses to work. Rolling my
shoulders, bracing myself as I let up a fraction, I felt around for his reservoir.

The smooth line of my released energy instantly connected with his. Eyelids
fluttering closed, my mouth dropped as it felt its way into his core, his smooth,
warm power willing to dance with me, it bowing to mine in immediate submission.
Open to influence, Healer Soreth’s power felt unbiased and helpful. Cautiously,
allowing my energy to wander filling his person, its tendrils happily fanned out
and began minutely refining his metaphysical walls to operate more efficiently,
stretching their capability. Once again, it was instantaneous when I allowed it to
happen. My body sought out improvement without coaxing, it naturally gravitating
toward reforming and making anew.

Crap. It was so easy.

Somewhere in the room I heard an exclamation, with a few other sounds accompanying
it. Could have been mine, or his for that matter, but I was too engrossed. Focusing
on moving slowly was the only way to stay in control and not blast him open.
Minutes ticked by, my breathing was measured just as my thoughts were focused. With
the smallest internal movements I took great care to seek some sort of metaphysical
agreement on his part, his energy’s willingness and allowance. Based on what I was
feeling, his power was drinking up my changes and rolling out a red carpet for me
in welcome. Everywhere.

He didn’t want me to stop.

Which I took as a sign to do just that. We were done today. Having begun to taper
off to finish gradually, I pushed further, snapping the connection that wanted to
linger and finish the job in one go. Leaning back, I broke the connection inwardly
just as I physically let go with my hand. My breath came out in a long exhale.

I did it. I managed to hold back and do just the tiniest fraction of what I was
capable of. Getting my bearings, I cracked my eyes open and peered at Soreth. His
head was back, eyes closed. His breathing was labored. He moaned in pain.

“Oh crap, I’m so sorry.” Quickly I stood, the gravonis vine falling off my sleeve,
and made my way to the door handle about to fetch his assistant. I knew nothing of
healing. “I’m going for help. I’ll be—”

“No,” he immediately responded, his head snapping toward me as he was looking at me

with glassy eyes. “I’m not in pain. Do not involve my assistant. Just give me a
moment, please.” He wouldn’t take his eyes off me.

“Okay,” I answered. “I tried my best. I thought I did just enough to make a

difference, but I guess it was too much—”

“No! It was…divine. I—I am just having an unforeseen reaction.”

“Exactly, that’s why I think I should go get help.”

“Lady Trick, you misunderstand. My reaction is not life threatening.” Closing his
Falk-lidded eyes, he gritted his teeth as if rocked by another bout of pain.

“Okay, you seem awful. And I don’t understand,” I said. I waited where I was
because he had asked me, but I didn’t like it. Feeling awkward, I looked around
helplessly.

Peering at me again, his gaze different, his eyes searched mine with intensity.
“Your energy is beautiful.”

“Uh, thanks?”

Closing his eyes again, he put his palm to his chest, tapping it a few times. “I
feel it in here,” he said, with heat. “You’re power is…” Shuddering, he didn’t
complete his thought.

And that’s when I noticed something that I did not expect. Not at all. Looking down
from where his hand was placed on his chest, I was immediately shocked and
embarrassed to the core. His healer robes were tented. Down there.

Well, trick.

Finally understanding his reaction now, edging towards the door, I said, “I’m just
going to, ah, go and leave you to it.”

“When shall I expect our next session?” he quickly asked and then shuddered. His
gaze was on mine again. It looked as though he wanted to reach out and grab me.

I knew that he would probably need more than one session in order to help Nika.
There was no skirting around the fact that I just did the bare minimum that I was
capable of.
“Um, soon. I’m so sorry for any, uh, uncomfortable reactions you may be having.”
Just about forgetting my robe’s hood to run my hand through my hair in agitation, I
stopped myself just in time. “Honestly, I know you signed a contract and all, but
we don’t have to continue to do this,” I blurted out. Frack, no way did he have to
do this again. I didn’t even want to do this again. I’d find another way to help
Nika.

“Lady Trick,” he spoke agitatedly and in a hurry, “I have signed your contract. You
cannot renege on your side. I have done everything you have asked of me, I—”

Putting my hands up in a placating gesture to calm him down, I answered, “Okay, no

worries. I just don’t want to, hurt you. We will continue the sessions. Just give
yourself time to…heal.”

Heal?

Breathing easier, his head fell back again. “You are balm to my soul.”

Grabbing the door handle, quickly I slipped out, my face on fire.

Chapter twenty-one

Frack. Me. Or actually, don’t. Beelining it out of the office, I power-walked past
a waiting, suddenly confused Jero. What happened in the room with Soreth had taken
me completely off guard. That was not what I had planned on. That was decidedly not
one of my initial worries. But holy hell it was one now.

How was I supposed to go back to the healer and continue after that?

Groaning, both of my hands reached up to scrub my face under my hood. We were

already outside walking in no direction in particular, but away from the healer’s
offices.

“Is everything alright? You seem worse off? Did he hurt you?” Jero asked,
apprehensively.

“I’m fine,” I said, mumbling. Dropping my hands, I turned to him. “Do you want to
spar or something? Is there a place where you guys train? Would you mind? I know
I’m not as strong as you guys, but I could probably keep up for a time and it would
benefit me to learn.” There was too much on my mind. I had to focus on something
else. Immediately, actually.

Grabbing the back of his neck awkwardly, he asked hesitatingly, “You sure? I feel
that I allowed the fight in the mess hall because I forgot about your"—he indicated
all of me—"delicate nature. It would probably be inappropriate to allow you to
participate…”

“Jero, I’m going to say this as nice as I can because you’re a cool guy and I like
you, but shut up—just,” I held up a hand when he smiled, beginning to say something
to justify his words, “Just, shut up. Ugh.” Stopping, looking around, I commented,
“This sucks.”
Laughing now, Jero asked, “What sucks? And what does that even mean? Sounds
obscene.”

Smacking his arm and rolling my eyes, I did not need the innuendo jokes. “It means
I need something to do or else I’m going to flip out and do something rash.”

“What, like leg-strangle a male unconscious, rash?” he joked.

Just then a young recruit rounded the corner at a jog. Seeing us, he exclaimed in a
huff, “There you are! Lord Theros has summoned the reject. It’s needed at his
office. You’re to accompany it there.”

Jero, about to protest the kid’s choice of pronouns, stopped as soon as I waved him
off. Instead, he acknowledged the adolescent’s words with a nod and we began
walking at a clipped pace in the direction of the grand house of the compound. The
kid ran off, job done.

“Stupid male,” Jero said, mumbling to himself and then commencing an audible one-
sided conversation about the prejudices and rampant discrimination in the city. I
didn’t add to his rant. Not that I disagreed with his thoughts on the matter, I
just didn’t care too much when it involved me.

No. Scratch that. I did care about defending myself. Sometimes. Okay, it was hit
and miss. At the moment, however, I was still trying to figure out the latest
complication that popped up for me. Literally. Popped. Up.

I groaned again.

“I feel like you’re distracted and aren’t listening,” Jero piped up as we climbed
the back servant stairs.

I snorted. “You could say that,” I agreed.

“Well, you should speak up for yourself. If you had spoken up yesterday early on,
we would have realized you were female,” he said conversationally.

“What difference would it have made?” I asked, looking over at him. “I am a reject.
Being a woman won’t change the reason for my robe.”

“Well, I would have not been such an ass.”

I laughed out. “You weren’t a huge ass.”

“No. I probably was.” He grinned mischievously. “I kind of always am.”

Giving a snort, I commented, “Braghen would probably agree to that statement.”

“Yes, Braghen knows me well,” Jero said with a nod. Reaching the top of the
landing, he continued by saying, “I’ll spar with you if you start speaking up. I
liked seeing your fire today. You don’t deserve the type of treatment you get. None
of you do. Besides, you’re spicy when you stand up for yourself.”

I gave him a side-eye.

He gave me a look. “What? I get bored! That was the most fun I’d had in a long
time, you beating Previn.”

“I thought you were worried about my frailty?”

He waved that off. “You’re tiny, but sturdy enough. I think I can allow it.”

Huffing, I rolled my eyes at his seesawing opinion of my hardy, yet fragile self.
“Whatever.”

As we advanced up to the waiting area outside of the ornate office doors of the
fifth floor, I saw the same sneering assistant from yesterday. Rolling my eyes, I
immediately turned. Not wanting to be intrusive and remain in the middle of the
hall, I made my way towards the more secluded, modest chairs in a nearby alcove to
wait there. Probably weren’t meant for someone like me, but at the moment I didn’t
care. Too much on my mind.

“Not there, reject! You’ll stain the upholstery with your vile deformities.”

Vrekk me.

I let out a long, tired breath as my shoulders slumped. Casting a look in Jero’s
direction, who appeared pissed on my behalf, he soon mimed what looked like boxing.
I knew what he was suggesting. I shook my head. I didn’t want to fight.

Still barking at me and berating me and my disgusting existence, the aide was
unrelenting. Like a yipping stray pet wanting to bite your heels just out of spite,
I lamented not having a spray bottle for these types of situations. Walking toward
the double doors, I prepared to stand and wait instead, gritting my teeth.

Nearly shaking in agitation, the Haell spawn followed. “You,” he practically spit
at me, “will stand in the servant corridor until I indicate that His Lordship is
ready for you!”

“Chill out,” I said, emphasizing each word with my hands up, turning my head to the
side to dodge his breath.

“What perversion are you?” Stepping back in horror, his eyes locked onto my
fingers.

Oh, this guy. Here’s to being spicy. If the shivit didn’t want to be ignored as I
was trying to do, being that that was the most respect he deserved, dismissal, I
was certainly going to give him the regard he sought now.

Making a play of casting a glance at him and then looking away, quickly I whipped
my head around for a double-check. “Oh my goodness—it’s you! I almost didn’t
recognize you from yesterday.” Breathing vapidly, I took a few steps over to the
thin male while he tried to retreat in disgust. “Funniest thing happened today,” I
gestured to Jero, “we were out in the lowers and came across a draven having issues
with its handler.” Hearing Jero snicker as he nodded his head, I continued, “The
handler was whipping the beast, yelling obscenities. I think the draven was feeling
poorly because soon, after being whipped, it raised his tail and projectile shat
all over the man, head to toe.”

“Yep,” Jero added. “Liquid shivit everywhere. The driver spat some out right before
he vomited.”

Honestly, it did happen earlier today. It was rather graphic, too. I wasn’t even
close and I could still smell it even after having blood spurting over me
exorbitantly between then, which was saying something.

Sneering at both of us, the assistant narrowed his eyes in disgust. “Why are you
telling me this?”
Shrugging, I answered sweetly, “Well, I saw the diarrhea today and it instantly
reminded me of you.” I batted my eyelashes even though he couldn’t see.

Flinching as if I had just hit him, as if I owed him obedience and my words were
shockingly off script, the spawn’s mouth gaped at my unappreciated audacity and
repulsive description. How dare I change the rules on him and bite back.

What a sack of shit.

With a heavy click, the right double door suddenly opened on its own. We had been
summoned. Waving prettily with what he saw as my freakish five fingers, I sauntered
into the black and white room. Following, Jero’s shoulders shook with mirth. The
door closed. Apart from the heavy desk and glittering chandelier, the vaulted space
was empty.

“Nicely done,” Jero chuckled, though a bit nervously. He cast his eyes around as if
he’d never been in the room before.

Shrugging and buffing my nails on my robes mockingly, I commented, “I do try.”

“I believe it,” he said, but softly from the side of his mouth. He was adjusting
his demeanor in preparation for seeing his boss, his attention focusing and humor
fading.

Sighing, realizing that I had to get serious as well, CM Durath strode in from the
side door, followed by Lord Theros himself. The air thickened with power, though it
was not as blatantly displayed as it had been yesterday. Stopping, Durath stood
ramrod straight near the massive stone desk. Theros smoothly walked over to the
chair and sat down, leaning casually to the side as he eyed the two of us, his
alabaster skin ethereal and off putting in the highest Black Line regalia.

Moments passed as he took us in, rolling a crimson ring slowly on his finger. “Tell
me about today,” the Sahven lord ordered imperiously in Common, his energy coiled
tightly.

Jero, whose posture was as stiff as I had ever seen, immediately did as he was told
and relayed the incident from his perspective with clarity and succinctness, his
eyes front and centered on somewhere behind his boss.

Lord Theros didn’t react any differently but remained calculating. At the end of
the account, he said, “You are dismissed.” Nodding stiffly, Jero turned with
precision, walking out with a rigid cadence.

Flinching, I instantly felt mahdra slap my body, lingering and vibrating. I looked
to the Court Master. He had enacted a spell of some sort and though I couldn’t
identify it, it felt—

“And you?” Lord Theros asked when the door closed.

Shaking my head a bit, I tried to clear my mind to focus. Didn’t help. Still, I
told Theros my story, one that I’m sure he’d already heard from Durath’s mouth. In
the end, I said, “But you already know this.”

Tilting his head and eyeing me with an unnatural focus, his long hair draped down
his front, a stark contrast to his white skin, he intoned, “Yes. But what I would
like to know is why you failed to disclose the fact that you knew of the K’Vroken
warrior even before this incident? Why you chose to keep this information to
yourself in regard to the investigation?”
Dang. Here I was concerned about Krule when I should have been preparing my own
defense. “I believe our contract is still in place. I did nothing to breach our
light agreement.”

“The agreement specifically stated that you would not work against my organization.
I fail to see how that wasn’t breached with the knowledge of a K’Vroken in my
city.”

“Specific omission of a detail does not equal a breach, surely you know that. Court
Master Durath was aware of a third party investigating the crime on behalf of his
clan, something which I told him in the very beginning. That wasn’t lied about. And
I knew that the K’Vroken had no ill intent toward the Black Line. I fail to see how
it put you in danger.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Omission is just as damning.”

I snorted. “Draven shivit. You all thrive on manipulation and stretching the limits
of your contractual agreements. I did nothing wrong. I can recite the contract
verbatim if you’ve forgotten the verbiage to which we agreed.”

He stared at me. Well, glared more like.

The tense moment stretched.

“Why?” He eventually gritted out softly. “I concede the contract wasn’t breached.
But why not disclose the information?”

Exhaling on a shrug, I said, “I don’t know. The contract allowed me room to

interpret intent before divulgence and I found him truthful. He seemed nice and I
believed him. He meant the city no harm.”

He stared as if I had spoken in another language.

I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “You can do a truth spell on me if you
want.” Though I wanted to avoid that as much as possible given the reported side
effects. Still, making the offer indicated I was serious, even if I was planning on
them telling me those measures weren’t necessary.

“I already have,” Lord Theros stated.

Mouth opening, I turned to the Court Master, the one from where the spell
originated. “Seriously?”

Appearing uncomfortable for a split second, he gained his military composure. “It
was the only way,” he said. I soon felt the vibrating mahdra release, the
incantation already having done its job.

“This—this is the spell that causes violent diarrhea? The one you told me about?” I
asked with a bit of disbelief. It was one thing to volunteer for the truth spell
and quite another thing to have it already activated on you.

Durath’s jaw clenched, though his eyes seemed repentant.

“Well,” I said, looking down towards my feet as if imagining the mess that would be
coming, “when is this supposed to happen?” I looked from one to the other, my voice
rising in incredulity. I received no answer, which was answer enough.

And then I waited there. We all did.

Moments passed as I dwelled on the poor draven from earlier today, inwardly
lamenting my soon-to-be fate. But then I thought logically. I hadn’t done what we
were waiting for since Haven, not since the Sisters intervened on my behalf and
forged me anew. Damn. I was so weird. No, actually, this was going to be
interesting. Kind of like a reluctant science experiment you volunteered for, but
factored that it was unlikely to happen.

Clasping my hands behind my back, I rested them there. “This is kind of fascinating
in a weird, sick way. All of us just waiting for me to, you know. Have no clue why
I’m still here talking to both of you if you’ve got the truth already. You could
probably dismiss me and have your assistant show me to the nearest lavatory.”

Lord Theros waved a hand slightly. “The spell affects stronger mahdra carriers
differently. I think of it as a rudimentary gauge,” he answered, eyeing me,
waiting.

“Primitive,” I remarked. “Hate to break it to you, but how long are we going to
wait? I don’t feel any different.”

Durath, cracking his stone veneer, cast a look over to his master with a mixture of
confidence and confusion. “I performed the spell precisely, my Lord.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Durath.” His eyes didn’t leave my person. “I could have
done the same, I just needed a second opinion from someone I trust. I also wanted
to see if she recognized the castor—which, it’s clear she did.”

Durath nodded in agreement. “I’ve never heard of that happening before this, but
she knew immediately.”

Blowing out a breath, I asked, “Do you have a chair?”

“She is perplexing. There are a few more things I’d like to try with her, but not
now,” Lord Theros said, addressing the CM, eyes never wavering from my person.
Apparently addressing me now, he asked silkily, “And what of my furniture? Would
you recompense me for the damage?”

This was beyond nuts. We were talking in terms of brown. A theme for today.

Tilting my head back to the ceiling, hands coming up to rest on my head, my fingers
intertwined as I huffed. “We’re serious here? We are all going to wait and this is
going to reveal something about me to you? Shouldn’t we be discussing the K’Vroken?
Isn’t the city in upheaval?”

“The Council has taken over the K’Vroken situation and is handling it, with the
help of the Black Line, of course.”

“And what about the abductions?” I asked pointedly. For some reason he kept
answering me, allowing these questions. I was under no illusions that I wasn’t
being played in some way, shape, or form. Either way, he was responding.

“I have a few nobles scheduled for meetings tonight. Meetings that you will be
attending once you are cleaned up. You’ll use your abilities to suss out their
mahdra signatures.”

My hands dropped. I was both intrigued and annoyed.

Eventually, after some pacing and frowning on my part, Durath was excused. He
walked off with confusion written all over his face. It was just me and Lordly
Theros. Finished speaking, his blatant staring was turning irritating and creepy,
especially since I knew what he was waiting for. He kept spinning his damn ring.

Another ten minutes or so passed of deafening silence. Unbelievable.

Tuning his grating muteness out, I began to softly sing as I paced, skipping on the
black tiles and playing my own game of hopscotch, one I never had the opportunity
to play on Haven, or well, ever. Until now. Soon I began to sing a song that was on
my long-lost ancient playlist. It was an English opera requiring two parts. No
worries. I was bored as hell. Jumping over to sing the male part, trying my best to
get low enough and snickering in my attempt at some measures, I hopped again and
performed the soprano.

Multiple personalities were always fun.

Eventually, soprano dominated as the notes reached the poignant crescendo. I

twirled in my robe hoping my voice rattled his huge damn window with its haunting
song of madness and obsession. With the stone amplifying the acoustics of the room,
carrying and echoing my foreign words in a powerful, swirling, dance about one
falling into the blissful control of someone else’s dark mind, I dramatically
collapsed on the floor after I crushed the high E note.

Brava, brava, bravissima...

Letting out a quiet laugh, I then sighed. Silence. Looking down my chest to my
stomach, I grasped my flat abdominals and spoke to them in English since I was
already on a roll. “Why don’t you work anymore? Where does it even go?” If I
sounded horrifically fascinated, part of me was. My stomach’s response: not even a
gurgle. Not that I was disappointed, per se, just torn between my typical
nonchalance, irritation, and wonder over my alien oddity. Adding the current
situation on top of all that…

My head fell back. Ugh.

More silence.

“What language was that?” Lord Theros eventually spoke in Sahven this time, his
voice thick.

I didn’t bother looking up and had begun flicking a small veined imperfection on
the stone floor with my fingernail. “English,” I said, well, in English.

He repeated the word slowly, tasting it as if it were exotic.

“Where are you from, Trick?”

“Not in the contract, Theros,” I sighed dully. I could have started to worry at
this new line of questioning but…meh.

“Then I require your papers for the city, as you clearly are not a natural citizen
of Sahven lands.”

“Keeper Rescoven can get you those, no problem,” I said, calmly.

Hearing a minute exhale, he responded, “Keeper Rescoven’s medium is parchment. He

could forge you a deed to the continent and it would pass any in-depth mahdra
inspection.”

I chuckled. “Yeah.”
There was a pause. “He is dangerous.”

“Yeah.”

“That doesn’t bother you? Having an ally that is an unknown power, splintered from
the Sahven way?”

And here, just yesterday, he was trying to goad me and play off Resco’s abilities
of that as an old man guided by superstition. Theros knew all along that Resco was
a badass. “No.” I almost laughed, but held back. “We’re all dangerous in our own
ways, are we not, Theros?”

He didn’t correct my lack of proper designation. Good choice. His lordliness

remained quiet for some time.

“Are we still waiting for the spell to affect me? Because it’s not going to,” I
said. If I sounded irritable, I was.

“And you lying on the floor is not an indication of some sort of pain?”

“No. What I’m feeling is bored.” And prickly. Sitting up, my robe flopped itself to
rights. I stared over at him. “Do you need another song and dance to prove it?”

“Yes,” he said immediately.

Huh. Was not expecting that.

“Well, too bad. I’m done,” I said as I got slowly up to my feet. Singing randomly
to annoy others and amuse myself was something I could do. Singing when someone
placed a request? Nope.

“That is, unfortunate. I rather enjoyed your voice. I’ve never heard anything like
it—anyone who can match your range.”

Raising my eyebrow at that, I said, “Oh. Well…I can’t sing low so my range has
limits.”

He leaned back in his chair, assessing me. “There were two parts to that song—I
assume a male part?”

Pausing, I then snorted. “What? You what to accompany—”

“Your Lordship,” the spawn assistant cut me off as he leaned his head through the
cracked door, interrupting my thick sarcasm, “your conveyance has arrived.” The
door shut just as quickly.

Looking at me, calculating, Lord Theros said, “Perhaps I should learn.” Standing,
he immediately voiced a command. Like a bucket of electrified water, mahdra swamped
over my robe.

Again.

Forgetting about the never-happening-duet, I asked, “Okay, that was a cleaning

incantation, right?”

“Well done,” he said with a nod. “You reeked of blood. I made it extra strong.”

Must I always smell? “Not my fault for having a head ripped off above me. Also,
Durath already performed that spell on me. It couldn’t have been that bad, the
odor.” If I sounded a bit peeved, I was. My robe had been going through a lot
lately. All these spells and nulling capabilities were wearing it thin in terms of
its original mahdra-enhanced purpose.

“Potent enough to have anyone guessing that you committed murder earlier in the
day,” he said, with an elegant shrug. “And after your fight in the mess hall,
you’re building quite the reputation.”

Rolling my eyes, I clarified, “I didn’t kill that guy, the K’Vrok did. And Previn
is a prick and he had it coming.”

Waving the topic immediately off, obviously done with it, he whispered a spell. The
massive double doors opened to reveal his attendant. “You will wait for me out in
the hallway and allow my assistant to brief you on a few procedural aspects of the
High Council.”

My eyes were locked on the spawn, until I processed what he said. Head whipping
around, I asked, “Wait—what? We’re going to the High Council directly? I thought
the meetings were here.” My pulse began to speed up.

He gave me a look. “A K’Vroken is in the city, Lady Trick. Surely you realize
TreValla is in upheaval having the balyach roaming around threatening war?” He was
toying with me, repeating my earlier words while adding some dramatic exaggeration,
all while stone-faced and watching my hooded body language. “All business has been
canceled or redirected to the Hill of the High Council.”

My mouth gaped like a fish.

Seeing that I wasn’t going to yip as he expected me to, he dismissed me to the

front with an elegant sweep of his hand. Even then, I didn’t miss the slight upturn
to his mouth that lasted a mere fraction of a second.

Walking mechanically to the doors, my mind was reeling.

Spawn remained in a position of attention…until he was sure Lord Theros was no

longer watching. Doors closing, he dropped the facade.

"You are the worst trash to accumulate in TreValla and you're going to irrevocably
besmirch my Lord's name in the hallowed halls of the High Council. How he expects
me to guide a festering mistake from making any mistakes, is beyond me. The robe
you wear is disgusting and faded, much like your soul was at birth. I cannot fathom
a—"

If he was giving me any pointers on formal Sahven procedure somehow amid all his
verbal abuse, I wasn’t paying attention. I needed to talk to Resco.

“Don’t walk away from me!" Following me, he halted as I stopped at the stairs. “My
Lordship has explicitly commanded that you wait for him over there,” he gestured to
the alcove I had tried to sit in earlier. “Though how he expects me to allow you to
sit on the provided chairs without ruining them for eternity with your robed
nastiness, is beyond me. That is one thing I do not share in common with His
Lordship—his disgusting treatment of those who are lesser. If this city were run
properly, all rejected would be put to death at infancy or maiming. He’s been
introducing,” he looked both ways down the hall and lowered his voice, “equality.”
He shuddered at the word.

Rant unimportant, my head had popped up a few sentences of his ago. Not due to his
words—words which were commonly heard out on the street which I’d become used to
ignoring—but because I felt energy near me, whipping around snake-like about to
strike. I knew whose it was.

“Uhhh,” I looked at the assistant, “I’d stop what you’re saying if I were you,” I
said with a sick, helpless feeling that he wasn’t going to take my advice.

“You filthy, reeking reject! I am an aide to the High Council and also His
Lordship! Don’t dictate to me—”

Putting my hands up, eyes wide, I said, “Dude, shut up.”

For a distracted, bizarrely slowed moment I focused on his sneering face and what
was dangling on it, but quickly triaged my priorities with what I saw there.
Shaking my head, I then turned to my right where I knew Lord Theros was standing.
Unseen.

Oh shivit.

Undoubtedly offended by my hands, up and trying to calm him down in an effort to

stop his speech, Spawn smacked them away with a sneer, only after having spit on
the front of my robe. This again.

Immediately Theros materialized, his mahdra whipping out and slicing off his
assistant’s violating arm at the shoulder. There was quiet disbelief in the air,
until the assistant looked to his shoulder and then at his appendage on the floor.

Screaming.

Theros’s eyes were calm and in control. Interesting considering his energy felt as
though it’d melt the walls. “I thank you for breaking your contract, Fergo. I have
been done with you for quite some time. Your clandestine allegiance with the Sihvak
family proved useful, however, I have gotten what I needed from you. By our
agreement, you will be rendered mute and, of course, I will be taking your other
arm, as well.”

The screams and barely discernible wild pleas ratcheted up to a deranged, frantic
extreme, ineffective for clemency it seemed, as the other arm got hit with another
vicious whip from Lord Theros’s angered mahdra. With a mere flick of his finger,
the flailing arm fell off with a dead thump, the wound sealed as if cauterized
simultaneously. Falling to his knees uselessly, hysterical, Fergo’s arms laid out
like long Valk sausages on the floor.

And then all of a sudden, the sound stopped.

Fergo’s cries were gone as he finally was muted, permanently, in this case. As his
mouth gaped soundlessly, his gray eyes were wide and even now, uncomprehending. In
a silent hiccup movement originating from his chest, he looked to his mangled
torso, to us, and then completed his final descent, falling facedown to the stone,
unconscious.

Staring. I was staring. A thumb twitched from a disembodied arm.

Theros, turning to me, asked, “Shall we?” He indicated the stairs.

“Uh, yeah. Right,” I said, with huge eyes.

I must have walked rotely to the carriage because we were seated and moving before
I was able to think properly—if you could call my normal off-kilter preset for
thinking proper. It usually involved humor.
“So," I tapped my knees, "that sucked for him. What do you think he’s going to do
now?”

Looking at me carefully, gauging my reaction to the situation which was most likely
normal for him, Theros said, “I will issue him a robe to hide his reject status. I
have allowed him to live. It was well within my rights to have him terminated.” He
adjusted his already regal posture on the white tufted bench seat in front of me.
Somehow I got the feeling that he normally didn’t justify himself to anyone as he
had done just now. He didn’t seem happy about his last words, wondering why he even
mentioned it.

I nodded. “Yeah, but I was more talking about what was on his face when you took
off his arms.” Voice breaking a bit, I tried not to laugh. “You had to have seen
it. Tell me you saw it.”

He was quiet for a minute, as if unwilling to speak of it as if he were above such

ignoble observations. Eventually, he came to my level. “You mean the rather large
protuberance of mucus? Yes, I saw that.”

A booger. Yes. I brought up the booger.

Giving a shrug, he said loftily, “I suppose it will be impossible to pick…now.”

Covering my face with my hands, I tried to contain my laughter, shoulders shaking.

He went there, Theros actually went there.

Chapter twenty-two

The carriage slowly ascended, pausing every so often as the roads were packed with
draven and citizens alike, wrapping up the day’s business as the twin suns
completely lowered in the sky. Surprisingly, the ride was smooth even with the
cobblestones and randomly halting progress.

The comforts of wealth, I guessed.

Closing Lady Silver with a snap, I looked out the window first to gauge how much
progress we’d made. I’d just conversed with Resco via text. Tucking Lady Silver
away and seeing that the buildings were bleaching their color and the carriage was
stopping less often, it was clear we were getting closer to the 'Hill', something I
hadn’t noticed while I was obliviously occupied with the Keeper.

Peering over to Theros, finally giving him the same attention that he’d been giving
me, he undoubtedly content to observe, or most likely, spy as I wrote away, I
asked, “What if I have a delayed reaction to the truth spell?” Honestly, I wasn’t
considering it a likely possibility, but I posed the question, nonetheless.

His eyes flicked up from where I had stashed the silver book and my quill.

“I’m no longer worried about that. Congratulations, you are the most powerful
mahdra user I’ve ever met,” he said nonchalantly, forgoing Common and choosing
Sahven to speak in. He glanced at where Lady Silver was stored, then resting his
black obsidian eyes on my, now defunct, sleeves. “Strange that you have five
fingers. I’m guessing you have hair on your scalp as well, and you’re not nearly as
deformed as you let on. We’ll soon see,” he said, now somehow piercing my shadowed
eyes with his.

I switched to Sahven out of courtesy to his preference. “You think I’m like Healer
Soreth.” It was a statement, not a question. Through Theros’s eyes, it made sense.
But I knew nothing about me made sense, one huge one being the reaction that Soreth
had had this afternoon. Shaking my head, I pushed that problem to the back of my
mind. “So, being that the High Council is extremely insular with handling knowledge
and information, zealously touts racial superiority, and is aggressively protective
of its hallowed halls—there is only one, perhaps two ways, I’m going to be useful
to you on this little foray.”

Tilting his head as if scenting my proximity to what he may have already planned
for me, his brow minutely lifted. “And what is your first thought then?” he asked
lazily, his sharp mind anything but.

I felt better after having talked to Rescoven about this. Mind you, I already had
some idea about how this was going to play out, but Resco had suggested some useful
tips and thoughtful ways to make the most of the situation. Always scheming, that
one.

Clearing my throat slightly, I answered, “Okay, if it is permitted, I’m allowed to

accompany you into the High Council’s Hall and observe the proceedings with you—no
doubt using my keen nose to sniff out mahdra signatures.”

“That is why you're here, after all,” he intoned, silkily.

I waved him off. “But you and I know that’s draven shivit. They’d sooner see me in
the dumpster, dead and thoroughly squashed like the nasty black robe I am, than
have me in their pristine hall, privy to their machinations.” A fact that I had
been worried about since Theros’ office, even before booger-spawn had gotten his
arms sliced off. I’d be surprised if I was admitted even through the initial gates.
But being that I was in this carriage in the first place, Lord Theros somehow knew
I’d be let in.

Obviously for a reason.

Theros was silent. There was no movement to him, but it seemed as if he was taken
aback, shocked that I was perhaps keener than I had let on.

“You see,” I continued, “although we have a contract between each other, the
K’Vroken is proof enough that the words which we mutually agreed upon are a bit
vague in terms of security, protection, and what constitutes ill-intent. Correct me
if I’m wrong, but I’m here in this carriage soon to be brought forth to the High
Seven for possible imprisonment—or at least until they decide my fate because of my
prior knowledge of the K’Vrok in TreValla?”

He gave a stiff and reluctant nod. “The contract ensures your safety from me, not
from the High Council and their judgment. I’ve been scheduled to speak on the Black
Line’s involvement with you and your omission of the K’Vroken’s presence, though I
do intend to argue your case.”

Nodding, I figured this. “Yes, but there’s more to it than that, I’d wager, given
the fact that you now know my attacker from earlier today had been sent to kidnap
me before he got sidetracked with sexual assault. Someone has made notice of me and
my abilities, tried to have me taken today, but was thwarted by the K’Vroken.”

Eyeing my robe’s pocket, he then took in my shrouded face. “Keeper Rescoven is well
informed, it seems. Tell me, do you and him write together in English—the language
you sang in?”

I huffed. “He insisted on learning it immediately. Of course.” I wasn’t going to

mention that Braghen, and then Jero, had hightailed it over to Vahlta Hall in
frantic concern once they realized my fate. Braghen had discovered the scheme
during his investigation of the decapitation. He’d reported his findings to Durath,
but was soon dismissed from his duties for the day. Not knowing what else to do,
they met up and went to Rescoven.

But little did they know Keeper Rescoven saw problems such as these as delicious
opportunities ready to be methodically manipulated and milked for all they were
worth, and I wasn’t far off in seeing them as the same, albeit in a more fractured,
fly by the seat of your pants sort of way. This was convenient for me. To Resco, it
was another variable of a variable in his master plan which he had most likely
predicted, however improbable that seemed for anyone who has ever breathed.

“Here’s the rub,” I began again while he cocked his head ever so slightly, “I
honestly believe that you want me to use my mahdra identification skills, just in a
different setting.”

“Tell me more, then. I’m very interested in your presumptions.”

Smiling at his last word, I was hitting the nail on the head and he knew it.
“You’re using me as bait.” He made a move to speak, but I held up my hand stopping
him. “You predict that I will be put in a holding cell in the dungeons below and
you’re hoping I’ll be approached by the Sahven who has shown interest in my
abilities—or a least one of his or her lackeys. Hopefully someone I can get a scent
off of. You’re betting on it.”

Apart from the muffled outside street noises, there was silence in the carriage.

I began again, but slowly, not wanting to risk him shutting himself off. He was
still as marble, only his eyes belying the severe intelligence rapidly firing
behind their dark, facade. Speaking slowly, “I think it’s a good idea. And for the
sake of being honest—though that’s the last thing you may be used to—” I laughed
out, but quickly, held my hands up, “no offense—but being in this carriage is a
choice for me. Resco is powerful enough to flout the rule of the High Council,
savvy enough to get me out of any verbal entanglements the Sahven may try to trip
me up in. I’m here because I think this could work. Because I want the abductions
to stop.”

He was weighing my words.

Shifting, he came to some sort of conclusion. “Tell me, is it Resco,” he repeated

my nickname for the book Keeper with an unusual flair as if recognizing my alliance
with someone who normally would never stand for such an insulting, plebeian slight
of nomenclature. The gall. “Is it the Keeper who is the power within Vahlta Hall,
or you?”

I snorted. “Him for sure.”

He gave me a look as if not believing me whatsoever.

“Tell me what to expect. Resco—sorry, Rescoven,” I corrected with a roll of my eyes

as Lordly Theros seemed uncomfortable with it, “has told me what he could, but it’d
be helpful if you could give me a gist of what you need from me, or perhaps what
you think I may be running into.”

Heavy silence.
Finally, he gave an elegant sigh, but for once its entirety seemed genuine and not
pretense, or a tool for manipulation. “You are to be detained immediately at the
gates. I have factored that your contract with me and your, status, will be enough
to explain the omission of the Sahven enemy within our lands and eventually get you
released. I have placed a hidden tracker on your person whilst I cleaned your robes
for the second time. My goal is that you will be in the lower dungeons for a
maximum of two days before I am able to get you out. My other goal is that during
that time, you are approached.”

Okay now we were getting somewhere. “Right. I’m assuming my ‘status’ that you
mentioned is the fact that I’m a reject? It will help in my exoneration?”

He nodded.

“So they will believe that since I wear the robes I must be stupid as well as
deformed, and it would explain why I didn’t mention the K’Vroken—because I didn’t
know better?” And they’d let me live? I thought that was a stretch.

“Precisely.”

I gave him a look, however useless it was under my shroud. “Really? It seems a bit
thick to assume they’d be so—”

“Dense themselves?" he finished my sentence with a raise of his brow, obviously

noting the insult, but allowing the jab since it was made with the purpose of
trying to understand. “Never underestimate how much you and your kind are
disparaged and devalued in deed and in overall worth. And it is not a question of
their intelligence, but rather the strength of their discrimination and prejudice
in a situation where you are just a minor detail in a much larger game. They are
gathering to talk of imminent war, and they’ve made the realization that they have
become weak. The K’Vroken is their fear. With me as an ally you’ll live, and soon
be seen as a crumb they will undoubtedly brush off as inconsequential…or perhaps,
burdensome with your contractual ties to me.”

“Okay, good news then. So they’ll just lock me up and forget about me and then I’ll
be left to my own devices?” I asked, bobbing my eyebrows anticipating the
subterfuge.

“For a time being. I will get you out, Lady Trick. That was always my plan and I
have many people who owe me. They cannot touch you.” He was deadly serious. “Do not
fear.”

I waved that off. Though he may read others like a manual leading to their
destruction, he still didn’t know me well enough to realize I truly was looking
forward to this. To actually helping. “Yeah, yeah. What after? You will need actual
proof if this is all connected to a highborn Sahven.” Shifting in my seat, I cast a
glance out the windows. We were nearing the outer gates to the Hill.

“Along with a tracer, I have a recording spell on you. My work is irrefutable and
if there is anything captured in the spell, it will prove very damaging.” He left
it at that.

Okay, psycho.

“So I need to get them to talk, if they send someone for me,” I said, ruminating on
what was needed rather than asking for his opinion. Being that I talked sometimes
way too much, it wasn’t going to be an issue eliciting some convo.
Lord Theros looked at my robe’s pocket once again, then at me. “Oh, they will make
contact with you, of that I have no doubt. May even perform a truth spell on you,
gauge you and the power you hold. See if you are worth it.” Folding his hands on
his lap, he looked out the window, then back to me. “And you are worth it.”

“Aw, shucks,” I said, rolling my eyes, “you’re going to make me blush.” I was
flippant for a reason. We had arrived.

Suddenly, Lord Theros leaned forward and lightly touched my knee. “Your book and
other spells on your person are undetectable, even from me. Trick, you need to know
that—”

The door was yanked open and Sahven guards in white clothing, no, scratch that, a
group of mixed race Sahven guards and Falk encircled the carriage. Theros recoiled
as if I were disgusting. Gloved hands yanked me out with contempt and revulsion as
I cast one last look at his Lordship sitting on the pristine leather seat. He was
the Sahven model for insouciance, his disdain and elitism practically dripping from
his hands as he made a small cleansing spell over the place I had just occupied.

Whether he had time to say it or not, I knew what I was facing. Or at least knew I
didn’t have all the answers for what to expect, and zero assurance that it would
actually work. In fact, we both had been skirting around the fact that I may be
taken forcibly from the cell to another location. He knew it. I knew it. Tracer
spell enacted for a reason. Not to mention violence committed against me was
probably a no brainer. I mean, I had been assaulted earlier.

Let’s hope I would only have to deal with a blow to the head or two, rather than
what nearly happened before Krule showed up. I could do this. I could handle it. I
had a few aces up my sleeve, anyway. Never to forget I was armageddon itself. For
once, I felt on the verge of being considered helpful. This is what I wanted to be.
Needed.

Head forced down, arms behind my back and restrained, they moved me with haste
through the gate. Stumbling, they pushed me and swore repeatedly under their breath
in Common about how disgusting I was. Unable to gaze around and take in the
sweeping Sahven majesty of the empyrean estate, I still felt the energy. Massive,
and lurking like a sleeping giant, it lingered like a boiling caldera just below
the surface.

I let out a small laugh.

“Shut your mouth, filth!” A guard kicked the back of my knees.

Didn’t matter that I fell. What mattered was the fact that I stumbled on a huge
secret: they were using the rock, the mountain itself to store power. Their famous
blanhk stone was more than just an egotistical prick’s facade to show racial
superiority and purity. They were utilizing it to store power—the whole mountain
was. Only to be siphoned at the top.

Catching a glimpse of the doorway I was led into, my head slightly lifted as I
spied a bizarre mural on the interior wall, my mind wandering and connecting
Celestial dots just as my head was once again shoved down, forcing me to walk in a
position of hunched over stress. Corridors, stairs leading downward, and
interspersed mahdra checkpoints with sentries were passed as they led me through
and down. Eventually, my retinue of muscle dwindled to two guards as we delved
further and further into the deep.

Eyes strafing to each side, I spied details here and there. I was in the dungeons
being led past perfectly clean cells which were uncommonly richly furnished, yet
empty of occupants. It went downhill from there, literally and figuratively.
Descending past two entire sparse cell blocks dimly lit on separate levels,
eventually we made it to a slender shaft housing a rudimentary elevator to take us
further inside the mountain.

The minutes stretched as we rode the shoddy cage down, a cage only functioning due
to the barest amount of allocated mahdra supplementing a frighteningly decaying
rope and pulley system. Controlled by a loose wooden lever, one of the guards held
onto it with a vice like grip. As if that would save him.

Hard to kill as I was, the descent had me holding my breath and biting my tongue,
else I’d be asking about the lack of elevator music. Shuddering to a halt, the cage
swayed and bobbed mid-shaft, clearly capable of going further down if the darkness
below was any indication. Pointedly, I closed my eyes and refused to look into the
deep as they steadily pushed me out the gate and onto the rough stone.

Leading me out and through a long curving passage that appeared to be hammered out
cave walls, I sensed their unease. Though I couldn’t tell at the moment with my
eyes cast downward, but I was guessing they were hunched over, too. The tight space
was claustrophobic in the extreme. After some time, we slowed to a stop as I side-
eyed my underground abode. Nothing was too shitty for someone like me. Apparently I
needed an abandoned mine shaft, smelling of sulfur, dripping with humidity, and
black as the blackest night to rest my sweet head as the tippy top decided my fate.

“It hasn’t been physically searched,” one of the guards said. Pretty sure he was
referring to me and not the space before us, which, turned out to be a line of dank
cells chipped out of the surrounding stone, the bars built into the mountain
itself. The dull lantern that was being carried by one of the males flickered to a
mere matchstick-sized flame. They weren’t even given a Vahlen crystal for light.
Seemed like they were the lowest of the low to deal with the likes of me.

A few hushed seconds passed and the light of the flame strengthened again. They
breathed out in unison.

“I’m not touching it even more than I have to and it already was screened twice by
the rune arches. Just scan it one more time for spells with the amulet and let’s
get out of here. They said to leave it unattended and uncared for.”

“Let it waste away, I get it.”

The hand forcing my head down was removed. Minutely, I rolled my shoulders and took
a cautious look around. I’d had worse. Haven to be specific. That place raised you
on media, encouraged your mind, facilitated human interaction and friendships, all
under the pretense of civility before harvesting you for parts. This was better.
This said: die.

Simplicity was rare, honesty even more so.

From my peripheral, I eyed a necklace of sorts being brought out from underneath
the guard’s collared neck. Barely having an energy signature, I fought the urge not
to laugh at the worthless prop. On a rope of thin leather, the confused guard shook
the piece vigorously looking down his chin, cursing as it didn’t activate
immediately. Pulling it off his neck completely, he squinted at it. Eventually he
concluded that if he just move it as intended, it’d work as it should.

Like an all important shaman, he began to scan my body, bringing the small amber
colored rock, which looked like it had been found under a dead crab in the Dredges,
over and around my robe. Lazily, finally, it gave a blip of washed out orange.
I bit my lip.

“It’s clean,” the guard remarked prominently.

Immediately shoved into the cell, I fell to my knees. Even down here, a decent
amount of mahdra formed a seal as the doors were locked. Which surprised me. It was
a modicum of respect I wasn’t counting on. As the guards left me to rot, their
light bouncing away soon after I was thrown in, I let out a nasty gurgle of coughs,
hacking out with dramatic flair, wheezing on the intake. Hearing their steps turn
into a jog, their sudden cursing echoing off the passage, I chuckled. It was the
little things in life.

Eventually, however, after the sound of the lift moving, there was nothing left to
hear but the slow, sloughing drips of unidentifiable moisture coming off the walls
and my own breathing. If I was normal this would have been the part where I
gathered my robe, found a dry spot to sit, and rocked back and forth with worry and
fear eating away at my insides, my mind destroying me even before they lay a finger
on me. Reminded me of planet hop two...

My pocket jiggled.

“Yeah, yeah.” Pulling Lady Silver and my quill out, my enhanced eyesight adjusted
accordingly. Opening the small fluttering book I began to write on her silver
pages, offering a status update:

“Down in the smoldering, yet dripping depths of Haell. Not hurt. Obfuscation spells
held. As you figured, they didn’t want to touch me so nothing has been confiscated
and plan A still feels feasible. Little to no spellwork keeping me bound. You’re
right, the tunnels appear to go even deeper which is mental because it feels like
I’m crazy deep in Haell’s intestinal tract as it is. Smells. No sign of the mahdra
signature I’m looking for, but let’s hope. Guards were instructed to leave me to
die—which seems like a good indication someone will show up since they won’t have
witnesses. I doubt anything will happen soon so I’m sending Lady Silver now.”

My ink immediately absorbed as I finished the end mark.

“How incredibly drab and predictable. I expected more. No matter. If you would
please do as I advised, my end will soon be sorted.”

I huffed. “Yeah, what does that last part even mean?” I wrote. He never told me
specifically.

“My strategy is a bit more complicated than a single answer can convey justly, and
the variables are fluctuating, regardless. As we do not have much time, if you
trust me to do what is needed, I will be there for you.”

“Word. I trust you. Peace out.” I gave a snort and waited for his response with
silly anticipation.

“The things you say...”

Chuckling, I closed little Lady Silver. “Time to fly birdie.”

Taking her to the bars, I released her out into the stone passage. The mahdra on
the solid rods only relegated itself to the strength of the metal, with nothing
inhibiting the coming and going of anything between them. Hovering, my beautiful
book paused and waved her pages in agitation as if torn that she had to leave me.
She fluttered back into the cell. Giving her a loving pat on the spine, I said,
“You know you have to go. I need your help with this. Please?” With a quick circle
around my head, she reluctantly loped off with one last pause in my direction.

“And then there was one.” Immediately I rolled my eyes at how Hollywood that
sounded, like a bad line from a vid. Even so, I wasn’t deterred. I sang the
corresponding song to go with it. I couldn’t lie, one could be the loneliest
number. Glad I was no longer a one.

And then I sat. For hours it seemed I waited.

Despite the help and backup I had from the outside, the unsteady dripping was
getting to me, my brain recalling forms of water torture and the use of uneven
drips to promote mental deterioration. In the end, I did indeed sit on the floor as
my mind wandered and filled in the blanks to possible future outcomes.

Still determined to somehow make the original plan work, I couldn’t help but play
with the idea that somehow something would go wrong. Be it Theros wouldn’t get the
evidence he needed, or I wouldn’t get out of these bars unless I went nuclear
whilst imploding the city—and then my body, which would be crushed to pulp, would
reform and blackout over and over again in an endless existence of immortality
under billions of tons of rock.

But that was worse case.

Realistically yes, something could and would go wrong, I didn’t deny that. But it
was a better use of my time to think up some more grounded scenarios than dwell on
the fact that it was completely reasonable that my power could go supernova and
flatten the city.

Crap. I was doing it again.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I did some box breathing techniques counting for
each hold, intake, and release. Mental prep, mental prep…

Calming once more, my energy leveled out.

Funny, that amidst the massive stored power up on top of the hill, I hadn’t reacted
too badly. In fact, I was able to travel into the belly of the beast, so to speak,
and not develop a fever measured in star terms. Come to think of it, the energy the
Sahven had stored was powerful, yes, but there was something about it in its
composition, or in the rock’s manipulated storage ability that felt, forced. It
wasn’t serving in the most efficient capacity that it could. So much rock and still
a finite well to fill. They were trying to emulate a spell that was already on
Haell and active.

Intending to or not, they were attempting the creation of a sacred stone.

I snorted at their effort. Fat chance.

Pretty much knew that some ancient and uber-knowledgeable son or daughter of a
Celestial came down through Haell via gate and mojo-ed up the one genuine rock I
was aware of in a complicated spell that expressly required a battery that ran off
the cosmos, should it ever need recharged. Even the mightiest Sahven couldn’t have
done that. And the fact that they were clumsily doing so with their very
foundations and walls went to show that they had no clue about Rescoven and the
real deal.

Maybe they were stupid? Eh. Name calling aside, arrogant and willfully blind, more
like. Mind you, I realized that the abductions were due to a desperate play for
gaining more power. Could it be that the Sahven race as a whole was feeling a
desperation for a dwindling power base? Or was it plain gluttonous greed crashing
onward without a care or thought being given to powerful gems, tangible and
intangible alike, existing in their own history? Knowledge was power. Had they
forgotten this?

Suddenly my ruminations vanished as my senses sparked. Raising my chin in the dark

and shifting my forehead against the bars, I felt rather than saw a presence down
the passageway, drawing near, albeit too far and out of view from my cell.

Hot damn. They had mahdra. Not a lot, but enough to get a sense that they were
related in deed or blood to the one that had enacted the rigged spell on the crate
in the warehouse. If they’d come closer I’d be able to discriminate between an
inanimate object that was spelled, or if the signature truly came from their
person.

“I know you’re there. I can hear you shuffling,” I called out. Nah, I couldn’t hear
a thing, but I had to say something. Interestingly, I hadn’t perceived a peep
originating from the lift connecting to the dungeon shaft. I sure had earlier when
the guards were fleeing my diseased self. This person must have come from some
other connecting tunnel.

Resco was right. It was like Swiss cheese down here—my specific interpretation, not
his. Lady Silver must be busy…

And just as suddenly, the mahdra blipped out. Nothing, nada.

“What the—” I whispered, halting from finishing my words. That was impossible. The
energy would have dwindled to nothing as if the person were walking away—not just
shut off abruptly.

Carefully, I got up as silently as I could and tried to peer through the bars to
see if I could perceive any movement down the tunnel. Instantly screaming out, I
scrambled back hitting the stone behind me. Something huge was coming, shrouded in
shadow, black and dragon-like.

“Holy shit,” I said in a panic. Hands shaking, I braced myself on the back wall.

“Trick!” Roaring my name, sliding to a stop in front of the bars, I gazed at him
for a moment. Reaching out, he effortlessly ripped the rods clear from their
moorings within the stone, the mahdra spells completely useless and instantaneously
inert as he chucked the heavy burden away as if tossing foam props. Rocks tumbling
down, they soon rested in silence as I eventually lowered my arms that had flown up
in reflex protecting my head from debris.

Instant relief as I realized I wasn’t going to get eaten. Then, as my mind caught
up to the situation at hand: worry. If the High Council wasn’t going to kill me due
to their perceived thoughts on my ignorance and Lord Theros’s influence, they
certainly were now. Staring at me, Krule crouched, heaving, his black eyes dazed
with murderous frenzy. The enemy of the state had just busted me out of jail. There
would be no doubt that we were in collusion now. In his hand, dangling as if
forgotten it was there, was an amulet. Its mahdra gone. No trace. Pretty sure the
wearer was gone, too. Permanently.

What now?
Chapter twenty-three

Ipeered down at the body. His neck was clearly broken, but no decapitation this go
around. A Falk of no significance to me, never encountered before, lay dead at my
feet and my only lead to concrete evidence, broken.

Krule had apologized for that part even though it wasn’t his fault. Snapping necks
was work that required quick action. He hadn’t known to stop and reign in his power
before destroying a flimsy mahdra necklace.

“You sure you’re okay with holding in your power right now? You once told me it was
like breathing…” I asked in K’Vrok.

“Breathing because it is unconsciously done, not because I cannot make an effort to

hold it in, or that it hurts. Besides, I’m getting stronger at it. I never had a
reason to do so until now,” he said, with a half grin. “Even then, I am not holding
it in as you say—more like,” he paused a moment, “putting up a wall so the mahdra
doesn’t pour into me.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, hoping he was being honest.

He must have thought I was confused. In a sense I was. Usually I held my power in
so I wouldn’t haphazardly spill energy out and ignite the city by mistake. He,
however, blocked himself off so the city wouldn’t spill into him?

“You have a mattress, yes?” he asked, with a quirk of his mouth.

“Uh, yeah,” I responded. Now I had one, thanks to Resco.

“So, I’m like a really heavy object—”

I snorted.

Smiling, he said, “Very heavy. Now put this object on a mattress and eventually
everything rolls into it because it created a deep depression on the surface. I
don’t know what is rolling into me, and most of the time I don’t care. With you, I
take time to blanket the hunger. Block it off.”

Mass. He had mass. “Okay, what happens when you take that wall down? Do you get
bombarded with mahdra? Swamped with it all at once?” I was a bit worried. I had
spells on me that needed to stay intact, sure, but I wasn’t going to risk his
safety if there was a chance he could drown in mahdra. I’d find another way to work
everything out.

“Not at all. Being swamped is impossible for me. And as I said before, I can
control the hunger for long periods of time. Especially with the right motivation.”
He stressed the last part.

Glad for the issue at hand to focus on, I didn’t ask for any further clarification
on his last words. “But spells touching you directly, your hunger eats them up
automatically?”

He made a back-and-forth motion with his hand. “If a combat spell is launched at
me, yes, the hunger will neutralize it without thought. If a mahdra user used an
incantation to destroy a cliff, I’d still run the risk of being physically harmed
by the resulting debris. But, I have been around a long time and have survived many
attacks. No danger is threatening me, Trick. It is I who am the fabled Balyach,” he
teased, grinning large and predatory.

“Okay, I’ll calm down,” I said. But then I remembered the spells. Spells I still
actively felt on my person despite my proximity to Krule.

Covering my face, I groaned.

“What is it? What is wrong?” he asked his words close to a growl.

“Uh, just one minor detail…maybe two…or more.” Ah trick, this wasn’t good.

“I will kill it. Point the way, Kalla bird.”

“It’s not that.” Taking a deep breath, I just had to spit it out. “Lord Theros
placed a spell, an auditory recording spell on me if I’m reading it right, which I
think I am since I’ve had a long time to analyze it while waiting here in the dark.
He may have heard all of this conversation.”

“Most Sahven know how their distant K’Vroken cousins work. He has learned nothing
new. And you need this spell, yes? I am taking extra care around you right now.
Last night with your sleeve was a—”

I waved him off. I really didn’t want to bring up last night. Whether his
dismantling the mahdra on my sleeve was a conscious act that he now regretted, or
simply just a mistake, I didn’t care. Even now, my cheeks began heating up. He was
once again sans cloak. A tight leather jerkin didn’t hide his rippling muscles
underneath. “Yes. The spell will help. It’s a way to get irrefutable proof of
wrongdoing. At least that was what Theros said.”

And did he just say, cousins? That…that made sense.

“Then I will measure my words carefully so that he hears everything I say

precisely,” he answered.

“What? You don’t care?” I asked, confused.

He shrugged. “K’Vrok only care when they have worries and weaknesses. I have no
concerns about the Sahven. Now, what else bothers you?”

Damn. “I may have mentioned your name to Rescoven. In my defense, I’m not used to
all these warring cultural differences and I—I was careless. I know K’Vroken don’t
like divulging their name to anyone.” Looking at the floor, or in this case the
dead body, I peered up again to gauge his reaction. “I’m sorry.”

“Trick, I gave my name to you and that allows you to use it as you wish. Others may
know many K’Vroken names, it’s speaking them without permission that may get them
in trouble.”

“Yeah, Rescoven already did that.”

Krule laughed out. “I sensed him watching me outside of Vahlta Hall in the rain. He
is intelligent. And don’t believe that he didn’t speak it on purpose, Trick. He’s
playing a dominance game and his moves are made in advance.”

“So, he knew what he was doing when he said it?” The second I asked the question, I
had my answer. Of course Rescoven knew.

“Don’t worry, I will not hurt him,” he said to allay my fears.

Except that wasn’t entirely my fear. “Yeah, also worried about you now. That Falk
has many plans.”

Chuckling darkly at that, he replied, “He was giving me warning, Trick. No need to
worry, about either of us.”

Nodding, I realized I was playing with the quill in my pocket. I just needed to
think about the problem at hand. “Well then I wonder if Resco formulated this in
his plans,” I said with a hollow laugh, pointing to the corpse.

“He was not in contact with me. I heard word of your imprisonment and came as soon
as I was able.”

“I hope that didn’t involve slaughter.”

“No need, bright one. I spoke to Lord Theros briefly, then was assigned a locked
room for diplomatic envoys to await a conveyance, guarded by sentries.” He let out
a laugh. It sounded like a rumble and I couldn’t help but think of the dragon
figure I thought I had seen in the passage. “There was a window.”

“Which was probably juiced up and locked with their best, most powerful mahdra.”

“Probably,” he agreed.

He’d broken out easily.

“How’d you even find me?” I asked, thoroughly curious. I doubt my exact whereabouts
in the tunnels were divulged to just anyone. In fact, I’d bet there were only a
select few who knew where I was essentially, buried. I was going to call it what it
was.

Krule shifted, as though uncomfortable. He answered, “I can…sense you. I cannot

detect mahdra in anything, I just consume it without care when I allow. But with
you, it’s simple. You shine for me. Pure energy. Now that we’ve met I could close
my eyes and walk blindly toward you.”

There was a pause.

I looked up, measuring my reply, my finger beginning to tap my leg. He seemed

larger than normal, as if a shadow were lingering around him. Of course that could
be the fact that the tunnel was smaller than what we were both used to and the
walls around us were still pitch black. If it wasn’t for my enhanced sight or his
even better five senses in the dark—

That was it! The dead Makuula!

Turning to him, grabbing his stellar hands in mine, I excitedly asked, “Krule,
how’s your sense of smell?”

Looking down, he analyzed my offered palm dazedly before he eventually answered,

“The best. K’Vrok have excellent senses, smell being one of them. Much to our
dismay. This dead man’s odor is repellent.”

I squealed—a sound I realized I never really had reason to make before. Quickly, I
questioned, “Can you follow his scent? Where he came from in the tunnels? I’m
hoping that he could lead us to the Sahven whose been abducting our citizens, or at
least direct us to more useful evidence. Resco and I had a plan with me down here—”

“Ah, that is why he allowed you to be taken,” he said, more to himself than to me.
“Of course I can track his scent. It wafts like unwashed ass.”

“Excellent,” I said, pulling my hands away to take a glance behind us. “Gross too,
but good news for us.” I realized the body did smell, but in the usual TreValla
citizen of the lower docks type scent, too busy with work and getting paid to worry
about personal hygiene. Clearly, the K’Vrok’s nose was more exacting than mine.

Krule added, “If it is as you say, I will direct. It is my goal to have this
finished, as well. Safely.”

Huh. Death incarnate was worried about safety. He appeared content to please me
though, for which I was grateful. Forgetting about the repercussions of busting me
out of prison, I was glad he was here.

“I will lead and you will make sure you’re touching me. In this darkness I want you
close so I can focus on my other senses for you. I don’t like you taking the rear,
but neither do I want you in front in this narrow space.”

“Sure…uh, good idea. What about any zrahtcha bugs or verms down here?” I quickly
asked, recalling a document on the flesh-eating dog-sized beetles of Haell’s cave
systems to the north and their caustic and puss covered blood-sucking cousin the
verm, as well. Not a way I would have liked to be tortured. Mistaking Krule’s
shadow earlier for a dragon had gotten me skittish.

Shrugging his massive shoulders, he began to walk, crouching through the tunnel. I
followed. Reaching backward, he took my hand in his and put it on his lower back.

“I was getting to that,” I muttered.

He ignored my last words. “I believe they are low in numbers in this cave system. I
suspect due to the high amounts of sodium from the bay and the fact that their
usual prey has been eradicated from the tunnels.”

“Oh, the ravaks?” I remembered reading about those, as well. Monster rats. Huge,
nearly useless eyes, large teeth, and massive claws for disemboweling. I was
suddenly grateful that they were not present down here with us.

Heading in the direction of the shaft housing the lift, unable to see around the
K’Vrok, I began walking automatically while thinking about other matters, trusting
Krule to lead us. Suddenly, he was gone. Before I could even exclaim, he grabbed my
hand from the right and tugged me into an ink-black splinter tunnel I had no idea
even existed. Made sense, though. I hadn’t heard the lift earlier with either the
wafting assman or Krule. Applying pressure, the K’Vrok didn’t let go of our grasp.
Not that I minded. He really did have nice hands. Best in show.

Look at me, being all honest with myself. That, and well…

I realized he spoke.

“What? Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” I murmured a bit shamefully, my face

heating. As I had mentioned, he didn’t wear his robe and dark tunnel or not, my
enhanced eyes had only one view. One that I had just been touching. With his large
shoulders tapering to his hips, my eyes couldn’t avert from his leather-ensconced,
muscled backside—

“Where is your Rescoven? Surely his plan wasn’t to completely abandon you down
here.”

Focus.
“Ah, no. Not at all. I figure he’s finding a way into the cave system without
having to venture through the ivory base up top.” Not to mention he was doing that
part remotely, via a small metallic book named Lady Silver. Didn’t know how he was
going to help specifically, but it probably involved more books, being that he
couldn’t leave the foundation of Vahlta Hall. Perhaps Red Giant would light the way
for us soon once Lady Silver found a crack she could exploit.

We walked on for quite some time, serpentining through narrow passages, up crudely
carved stairs, down steep slides of rock that would have been fun, but were
decidedly gritty on my backend and made my robes hike up.

“You’re not wearing a skirt,” Krule remarked, as he held a hand out for me at the
bottom of one such slope.

I accepted his hand. “Yeah, the robe is cumbersome as it is. I don’t need to add
petticoats to the mix.” My pants were fairly tight, though, as I preferred since I
factored they’d never get seen anyway. Perhaps that was why he commented.

He nodded. “I see. You do not like dresses?”

“I had planned on running over rooftops this morning when I put my clothes on,
hence the pants. Dresses are fine. Haell’s fashions are kind of, boring, if we want
to go down that rabbit hole of a controversial conversation. But,” I shrugged,
“Dresses and skirts aren’t my enemy. I just don’t wear them often. No reason to.” I
didn’t even own one.

We continued down the dank, stone corridor, the air smelling humid and stale.

“I like it. You are like an unbeatable warrior—you dictate what you will wear, what
you will do, and who you align yourself with. Only the best K’Vrok in my lands act
in such unbridled freedom, unruled and unrepentant of breaking societal chains.”

Inwardly, I puffed up my chest a bit. But then I also knew that it was most likely
my alien status on a new planet that kept me a bit different and separate. That, or
the fact that I mostly didn’t care about what others thought of me. The Sister’s
offered me a huge dose of perspective when they forged me anew.

Clearing my throat a bit, I asked, “What about you? Where do you fall in K’Vroken
status?” I asked, knowing full well there was no way he wasn’t at the top level of
power within his culture. He had the clout to walk around Sahven lands, get
discovered, and not get killed, so if that wasn’t an indication of his badassery, I
didn’t know what sufficed.

Casting me a dark grin over his shoulder, I tried to suppress my instant reaction
as he did so. “I am here in the tunnels of TreValla sniffing out vermin from their
hidey holes and holding the hand of a Kalla bird in the flesh. I am untouchable and
undefinable. I scare the K’Vrok.”

“You make it sound like you’re a part of them, but also separate.” I could see the
signs. After all, as a reject I knew what to look out for.

Turning back, head forward, he forged our path through the darkness. I wondered
just how better his eyesight was than even my improved vision. “I am too big…too
powerful in my destabilizing mahdra ability. And I’m old. Some have said I am
unstable.” He shrugged. “Also, I don’t relate to the younger K’Vroken.”

“I’m young,” I said, the response coming out before I could take it back. I knew
most races on Haell could outlive a normal human easily. For him to say he was old,
he must have been hundreds of years, though he didn’t look it. Not one bit.
Continuing, I clarified, “I may not know my exact age,” which was a massive, cosmic
understatement, “but pretty sure I’m not the most mature person to hang out with.”
I let out a snort.

Stopping, he turned as best as he could in the tunnel. “You make me laugh. I don’t
laugh. You are also intelligent and vibrant. We are different, yes. I cannot
tolerate the younger K’Vroken and their thirst for stupidity and inane war. So I
don’t. Haven’t done so for many years.” He shrugged. “But none of that matters now.
I am focused on you and my duty…for our friendship.” He looked me over, nodding at
what he saw. “I will tutor you in K’Vroken techniques of proper warfare. You will
be unstoppable.”

Trying to ignore the shiver he elicited out of me, I asked, “If you tire of war,
why would you teach me sword and combat methodology?”

“Because bright one, I enjoy those things. I am objective about war, depending on
the reasons why one enters into a skirmish. But consistently talking about it gets
old and their opinions are mired in their youth.” Squeezing my hand, he pivoted and
began leading us again. “If their thoughts were intelligent, they could prove
interesting, but most of the time their words are shit and they are full of bravado
that easily melts away in my presence. If I want violence, I exact it my way. I
find fulfillment in the small things these days.”

“So, the random ripping off of heads can fill that need for you?”

“Random, no. Other than that, yes.”

I laughed. “That makes you even more of a badass.”

He cast me a look over his shoulder. “My ass is bad?”

“What?—no!” Stumbling, my other hand reached for the wall to steady myself. “That’s
not what I meant at all—”

“So my ass is good?” He peered back, but still managed to keep us moving. “I have a
nice one?”

Groaning, I shouldn’t have used that phrase in K’Vroken. “I really haven’t noticed
—” My lie cut off as I smacked right into that said backside as he stopped.

Chapter twenty-four

Quickly, holding his large hand up before I could say anything further, he met my
eyes indicating a change of circumstances he alone undoubtedly just perceived.
Squeezing my palm, he began to move us again, this time in a stealthy run.
Continuing like this for a couple of minutes, he pulled me off into a side tunnel
that happened to be even narrower than the one we had just left. At another turn,
he halted. Facing me, he grasped my shoulders pulling me close. Peering off over my
head into the darkness, his ear twitched.

Something or someone was coming.

Minutes passed and whatever Krule was discerning was clearly interesting as it held
all of his focus. Cognizant of my exhales near his chest and measuring them
quietly, soon I heard it too. It started far off, gradually building. A rock
tumbling, a halting murmur. Pretty soon voices, though none associated with mahdra.

“This is all tricked,” a male grunted and spat out in thick, dredger Common. “He
should have been back by now. He had one job—a job that was already vrekked up my
Menos today.”

“I heard he’s dead. Something about no longer having a head,” another voice
commented.

“Eh, I bet the boss did it. We may get the very same fate if we don’t retrieve that
black robe and have it tied up and ready for him in the next hour.”

“This is the one he’s been after?”

“Yeah, the one I had finally tracked down with the amulet near the Cliffs of Drehd
around a cycle ago. I started climbing, then vrekking ‘wham’ a bound book falls
right down on my head out of nowhere—I can’t vrekking explain it.” He coughed, then
burped. “If the boss doesn’t make this one suffer I sure will. My leg hasn’t been
the same since I fell, and getting it fixed cost me almost everything I own.”

There was a grumble that may or may have not been in commiseration. “Ateron has the
compliance amulet now? You sure he went this direction?”

“Yeah, and keep up. I’m starting to feel like shivit—it’s a ways off and we need to
make good time.”

As I listened to their voices peak and then diminish, I realized that my original
assessment of Resco was still being tuned. From passing a skittish waif shellons in
a roundabout way, to protecting where I lay catatonic in my cliff dwelling, he’d
been watching out for me for much longer than I had known, his dedication
unwavering even then. No wonder he had forced my hand and knocked me off the
balcony so I couldn’t run. No wonder he had enacted a Siron Pledge to get gain my
trust. I had been a target in this city for longer than I realized.

More time passed in silence as we waited.

Looking up, I met Krule’s eyes. He had risked a lot, too.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” I whispered. It was shocking to think I had
acquaintances, no—friends, that would go out of their way for me. And in friends, I
was also thinking of the actions of Braghen and Jero today by going to Resco. They
risked their careers to make sure I was okay.

Krule, staring at me, focused so intently that the air became heated, the moment
tense in a different way. Immediately, using my senses I felt for the mahdra in my
hood, quickly realizing that it was plinking along, the embroidery still managing
an obfuscation spell. He wasn’t looking at my face, after all. Now that I truly
thought about it, there was a part of me that needed the hood off, that maybe I was
done with it.

“I will always come for you. You feel like life, Kalla bird. And I realize I like
that.” Removing his large hands from my shoulders, he clasped my right palm,
dwarfing mine in his, and brought it up to his hearts. “I feel it here.”

Well, what does one say to that? Itching to remove the hood right then and there, I
stalled and then realized that he perhaps was seeing the real me without the
distractions of the physical. Or maybe it was the fact that I didn’t fear him,
didn’t flinch or throw up near him that caused him to say such things. A reaction
of a lonely man without anyone to be close to.

Quickly, I scratched that thought. He meant what he said. To dismiss his words
outright was a shallow, insecure move. Insisting to myself that Krule was merely
forming a friendship with me out of desperation, else he’d be pursuing someone
whole and of his race, was disgusting disrespect to his person, pure and simple.

Taking his words in, I quickly realized that I had to be brave to believe the
positive. I also had to be brave to deal with my feelings. Because I felt
something, too. Where he felt energy, I felt something more subtle: solace—relief
from the frantic power boiling inside me that I always fought to control. In some
terribly frightening yin and yang, we had a cocktail of opposite attraction. He ate
energy. I created it.

But by entertaining this attraction was I running the risk of using him?

Honestly, that was too far ahead.

Dredging up some emotional maturity I didn’t know I even possessed, gently I

retracted my palm and nodded, recognizing his words, but not willing to comment on
them just yet. But I knew it was coming. “We should check out where those two came
from. Make sure there’s no one down there and tied up, suffering.”

Nodding back, he swung around. He held his hand out to me.

I took it.

Having made it back to the original tunnel, it took five more minutes of walking at
a good pace before we closed in on another opening. Though it was still further
down, eventually I distinguished the smell of salt water. The heated sulfur smell
of the tunnels had gradually diminished a while back having gone unnoticed by me,
until now.

“There’s a spell on the threshold,” I said. I could feel it. Obscuration?

Krule, tossing me a wicked grin over his shoulder, kept walking.

“Wait! What if there’s fallout from breaking the spell?" I asked, remembering the
explosion in the warehouse.

“Not with me,” he said, confidently. “It’s as if it no longer exists.”

Pulling on his arm, he didn’t slow, just chuckled lowly. Giving up on impeding him,
I retracted my hand from his grasp not wanting to be in contact with him when he
opened the gate to his power. Peering back with a raise of his brow, he kept going.

“So, you just eat it then? Nothing happens?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m going to wait back here, you know, just in case your hunger pulls in my
spells.”

“Yes, that is what I figured. It’s good to remain cautious with you.”

Letting out a small huff not really knowing what he meant by that, I questioned,
“Do you at least get full?” Nothing had happened with the bars when he ripped them
out of the mountain. I could probably relax on this one.

He rumbled another dark laugh. “The hunger is never satiated.”

“That sucks,” I said. Now that I was eating regularly I realized that the feeling
of perpetual hunger was a nagging bitch that I was glad to have gotten rid of.

Nearing the passage entrance, he didn’t hesitate. He walked through. And then
nothing. Mahdra working one second, mahdra gone. Except, there was light.

“Huh. That was anticlimactic,” I noted, shielding my eyes as I completed the rest
of the corridor and followed through the entrance. Immediately, I stood behind
Krule as he indicated with his arm stretched out to stop me.

“Yes,” he remarked in agreement, but he scanned the space with his keen eyes and
undoubtedly his other exceptional senses, as well.

Peering through my fingers, my eyes quickly adjusting in the low light, I noticed
Vahlen crystals hanging from several lopsided pedestals around the stone cavern
amongst loads of discarded furniture and cast-off crates littered all around.
Massive stalagmites jutted up from the cave floor as their counterparts hung down
in deadly anticipation to run someone through and crush them to death.
Interestingly enough, a large circular lake rested eerily calm in the center of the
room, pierced by a gigantic rock column, as if a monster's black eye was gouged to
death by Haell himself. Taking it all in, shadows flickered and grew on the walls
like towering, sentient devils, the lake reflecting like a black, mirrored portal
of ill intent.

In a hushed voice, I said, “I’m getting mahdra signatures off a few spots, but, and
I’m going to take a guess here, I don’t think there are any live people associated
with them. Your thoughts?”

“We are alone, Trick,” he agreed with my assessment. “But I can smell some past
evidence of a group of individuals, captor or abductee I cannot distinguish. It
reeks of blood and fear.”

Well, shit. “Okay. Let’s take a look around. I need to see if I can find anything
linking the Sahven running this operation to the abductions.”

He gave a nod.

Climbing down the chipped stone slope, we began winding through the maze of
discarded furniture and projecting cave floor deposits. Ath’Vela rugs were tossed
haphazardly, finely crafted wooden chairs stacked neatly in one corner, then others
just as ornate thrown carelessly into another. The entire shadowed cavern was
littered with elegance and waste, all in the name of hiding the trafficking of
people. Despite the guise of class and fine imports, violence lurked. Or maybe it
was accentuated because of it. Wealth was often the blatant, glittering indication
of unapologetic evil, and the debauched souls mired in it relishing in the pleasure
of their own repulsive, gilded rot.

Passing two empty crates swathed in old lingering spell residue, I sickly realized
it was the vile signature I was looking for, or a close approximation. Even if
these were from before I had gotten involved, and based on the mold growing on the
wood I was guessing that that was the case, the Sahven master behind this had been
working for a while.

This needed to end.

“Have you noticed that none of these crates would have been able to fit through the
tunnels?” I asked quietly, eyeing the dark water nearby to our left. The other side
of the small lake was registering higher mahdra. Analyzing that area, I found it
was the only space cleared of abandoned finery other than a flattened rock
formation the size of a large table and an armoire. Maneuvering over a glistening
mound of rough cave floor and ducking a stalactite, I curved around heading in that
direction, Krule in my periphery.

His voice, just loud enough to reach me, carried darkly in the eerie cavern. “It
does not make sense. None of this would fit without an obscene amount of mahdra.
Why waste so much coin and jealously guarded energy on items like these, only to
get tossed without care?” he asked. It was a question I didn’t have an answer to.
Glancing up, he surveyed the two other tunnel doorways opening into the vaulted
stone space. They all appeared the same size. “Do you sense mahdra on those?” He
indicated the two other tunnels.

I squinted, “Yeah. I think so. More obfuscation spells like the first.”

“I’ll be back,” he said and immediately vaulted over the crate taking a shortcut
over the abandoned luxuries. He planned on nulling those out of commission, as
well. It was a good idea.

Cautiously walking the rim of the curving lake as Krule did his thing, I eventually
reached the opposite side of the cavern with the armoire. Stepping onto a finely
woven rug, I peered around as dread filled me. The expansive stone that rose from
the floor had been purposefully flattened and on it lay multiple metal instruments—
instruments of torture it appeared. All of them registered with mahdra. The slab
itself was stained in dark rivulets of dried cobalt.

But none of that interested me, disturbingly enough. A large, brown, leather-bound
book did. It was slathered with evil. It was the mahdra signature I was looking
for.

Firming my resolve, I got closer. Reaching out and making contact with the cover,
immediately sickness roiled my stomach as I got a feel for what lay inside. Still,
I opened it. It was a Sahven spell book, the only one I had ever seen. Unprotected
down here in a cavern below TreValla, it lay unguarded and reeking of evil. The
fracking thing had a table of contents and every chapter was handwritten in posh
highborn script. Its title read: An Innovative Sihvak Journey of Recycling the
Lesser To Achieve Greatness—Powering the Stones.

This was exactly what I’d been looking for, though I felt zero relief with the
evidence in hand. Nauseated, more like. Regardless, it glaringly declared the
city’s culprit: The Sihvaks. Based on what I had recently read, they were an
extremely powerful Sahven family with ties and contractual allegiances that
undoubtedly spread across the three Sahven continents, made even stronger with a
member currently in chair within the High Council. In fact, Lord Theros even
referred to the family name right before he sliced off the arms of his assistant
who happened to have conflicting loyalties.

My fingers curled in revulsion as I held the leather tome. The arrogance and
cruelty contained within the one title made me want to vomit. It was the first time
I had ever wanted to burn a book. Looking at the table once more, my stomach
lurched.

Suddenly, the air moved behind me as I yipped, dropping the book back on the slab.
Not too surprising since I didn’t want to touch the thing.

“We have to move unless we choose to fight,” Krule said in my ear. “Someone is
coming, through there,” he stated, indicating one of the other tunnels he’d just
cleared of mahdra.

Nervously, I cast a glance over my shoulder at Krule. He seemed at ease even with
the possible looming altercation. Not knowing what my entire plan was, I quickly
decided that stealth remained important. For now. Honestly, I didn’t know. I wanted
evidence and I wanted justice. I just needed time to think and observe more of our
situation before it got physical.

As we were in the only cleared area of the cavern, and it would take time to make
it around to the larger objects for better hiding, I knew I had to act fast. Making
a quick decision, I ran to the large armoire and threw open the doors. Pulling out
a trunk, some small rolled-up rugs, and a plethora of spelled parchment, I
hurriedly shoved them to the side and hopefully out of view as I cleared space.
Fighting would have to wait.

“Hurry, get in.” I gestured to Krule.

He looked at the cupboard. Then he looked at me. “What?”

Feeling the urgency, I grabbed his hand and pulled. He didn’t budge. The side of
his mouth tilted as he gave me a funny look, right before he complied and took a
few steps toward the armoire. Raising his muscular leg, he began squeezing and
lowering himself in on the bottom of the dresser, his horns hitting and scraping
the underside of the interior shelf of the cupboard as he maneuvered his knees up
to his large chest. With some rattling and wood creaking, he made it work. He
actually fit. Proud of this, he looked expectantly at me with a grin, his horns
gouging shavings of wood from the shelf above as he turned. I made a move to shut
the doors as I pondered if hiding behind the stone slab would be enough.

“No, there’s no time. You get in, too,” he rumbled, having lost his smirk. He held
his hand out to assist me.

“Shit, okay,” I said in a whisper, moving swiftly while casting a glance back at
the tunnel we were worried about. Still clear. Grabbing the doors, I wasted no time
climbing in and over his legs while shutting them. Maneuvering as quietly as
possible, I ended up sitting on Krule’s feet with my legs entwined with his.
“Sorry,” I said softly as I heard a grunt. My face heated. My left foot was in a
sensitive area for him.

As I finally settled, it fell silent.

Conveniently enough, I realized there was a crack near the hinge on my side of the
armoire that gave me a small, limited glimpse of the rock slab and lake. “Which
tunnel is it?” I asked in the minutest of whispers, peering out of it.

And that’s when I felt it: the cabinet shaking, steadily increasing in strength.

“Wait, are you laughing right now?” I asked.

Chapter twenty-five

My jaw dropped as I turned to stare at the K'Vrok. Was he being serious?

“Krule, stop,” I whispered, stunned.

But he didn’t cease. He started laughing audibly in a low rumble.

“Oh my word,” I muttered, quickly placing my hand over his mouth. He quieted, but
his squeezed-in shoulders remained quaking as his mirth-filled eyes met my shadowed
face. Leaving my hand where it was, I peered irritatedly out of the jagged
peephole. “How much time did we really have? Because based on this display you knew
there was enough of a stretch to find somewhere proper to hide like somewhere in
those huge crates on the other side,” I said faintly, but exasperatingly.

“I go where the Kalla bird insists,” he mumbled through my fingers.

Rolling my eyes, dropping my hand, I replied, “Fine, I’m finding somewhere else.”
Leaning my shoulder to pop open the door, his hand quickly reached out and grasped
my forearm.

“No time now. Honest,” he said in a deep whisper, removing his palm and putting it
up in surrender.

Again, I stilled. We both fell quiet.

Soon I heard it. The sound of footsteps and grumbling drifted into the dank cavern,
followed by a thin scratchy voice as a male officially entered the space. His words
echoed eerily off the darkened cave walls.

“And of course they aren’t where they vrekking should be…ingrates…vrekking

idiots….”

Shuffling, the lone male wove his way through the wealth and made it over to our
side of the evil-eye lake, pausing in front of the slab. Peering out, I watched as
the older, thin Falk pondered the instruments and carefully placed them off to the
side. He didn’t touch the book, though from my perspective it clearly sat askew.
Instead, he rolled out a new set of unblemished, glittering tools above the book
and methodically unsheathed them from their white leather sleeve in reverence. More
mahdra sickeningly spread out from each one. Stepping back, he admired his work
with a nod, burped, and then began walking off toward the tunnel he came from,
mumbling once more while holding his stomach.

We waited in silence.

“Is it safe to leave?” I asked, whispering.

“Wait a bit longer. I hear something from the other tunnel now,” Krule answered.

“If you’re lying—”

“I heard an echo from the tunnel we exited,” he said in earnest. “You have good
evidence now, yes?” As I gave him a slow nod, a wicked smirk grew on his face.
"Then they will all die soon and they have no idea.”

Oh. My. Hell. I guess that violence was inevitable.

Now it was my shoulders gradually shaking in mirth. Perhaps I could blame it on my

nervousness of what was to come, or from witnessing a glimpse of the abject horror
of what that stone table signified, that was causing my emotions to crack. But they
were, just a little. Especially when he referred to laying waste. Because I agreed.
They would die. That was now the plan. And if Krule or Resco didn’t kill them, I
would find a way. If I had to stab them with my lowly drongo quill, I would.

I chuckled.

“Trick, shhh, they may hear,” he said, but his voice was blasé and sarcastic and
not caring if we were overheard in the least. Soon, he started to join in.

Trying to stifle the hilarity of our bizarre situation, I tried to rest my head on
my knees. My forehead hit his instead. I giggled. Actually giggled. Dumbest word in
the English lexicon. Only adult assholes giggled. Ugh. I was going to blame the
stress.

But then, suddenly, I heard a loud rumble in the wardrobe. “What the—” my head shot
up.

“I’m hungry! It was my stomach, I swear it,” he responded laughing out, but then
tried to lower the volume of his voice. “The Sahven didn’t feed me and I’m used to
eating a lot.”

“Well, stop it. It sounds like—”

It rumbled again. “I apologize,” he wheezed out, shoulders shaking so hard the wood
enclosing us began to rattle.

Hands covering my mouth, eyes beginning to water, I lowered them and strained out a
whisper, “You need to stop laughing because…it’s inappropriate…and I can’t stop
when you are like this.” Flailing my hands, I tried to dry out my eyes. “Say
something serious…or something.” Though to be fair we were already in deep and the
situation was deadly serious.

His laughter died down. “Fine.” There was a pause. His dark eyes searched hungrily
for mine under my hood. “In the K’Vroken way, if you’re merciful, present your neck
and let me taste your unhindered scent. Permit me, I beg of you,” he said in a deep
rumble, yearning evident.

That did it. My laughs tapered off as I attempted to gather my thoughts. “W-what?”

“You heard me,” he said lowly, but clearly.

I let out one last weak laugh. “Uh…you’re that underfed?” I asked, lamely. He
didn’t respond, just waited for my answer. “This is legitimately a K’Vroken thing?”

“It is.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I haven’t read about it…”

“It would not be written on parchment.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, unsure. “What, are you asking permission to take a bite out of
me? Or is this a proposal for, like, a…kiss, or something?” Blinking, I couldn’t
believe I just asked that.

“What is this kiss?” he asked, taking care to pronounce the word as best as he
could though the s sound came out with more of a sh flair, which I noticed he
tended to do.

Speech habits aside, trick. Sometimes I forgot I was an alien. Face heating up, I
answered tentatively as if not believing my ears. “It’s when someone touches their
lips to someone else’s lips…or skin…” My words muttered off hurriedly. Nice
definition, there. Pretty sure I glossed over a lot, namely the part where, you
know, display emotion. Act on passion. Having never been kissed, I felt I was
woefully inexperienced and lacked the confidence to explain more of something I had
no knowledge of.

“Then yes,” he immediately responded. “If you allow it, I would like to kiss you,
in your way.”

I took a moment and just looked at him getting my shock under control. This whole
situation had taken a sharp, unexpected turn. But was it an unwelcome one? Taking a
deep breath, really thinking, I decided to skip the typical knee-jerk, denial. To
be fair, it’s not that I hadn’t thought about kissing him over the last couple of
days. He interested me. I liked him. I had secretly entertained the idea once or
twice.

But now was not the time.

And then, noting our position and me being me, I lowly blurted, “Okay, fine.”

Growling, he just stared at me as if still trying to find my eyes, to no avail. “I

am not jesting, Trick.”

“On the lips, K’Vrok,” I countered.

Another growl, though like the others, not in intimidation. Seeming to come to a
conclusion, taking my hands in his, he leaned forward…and then was instantly
stopped by his huge knees. There was no way a kiss in our position was remotely
possible, well, a good kiss.

Laughing out softly in the de-escalating awkwardness, I leaned forward to do the

same, stopped by our entwined legs. “We could pucker up really big, see if we can
reach,” I said talking through jutting fish lips, feeling the hilarity rise again
of how ridiculous we looked.

He chuckled darkly. “Trick, you have no idea what you’ve just begun.”

“Probably not.” But laughing was better than being serious. Besides, I was enjoying
myself, that is, until he caught me off guard. With a jarring maneuver, he shifted,
determined to somehow get closer. Instead of allowing more freedom from our
contorted position, instead of the door popping out and the latches swinging wide,
the wardrobe rocked back and forth on its legs, the front two buckling on the
second swing. Our world went sideways as we crashed, doors down on the carpet.

Getting out was going to be interesting.

“This is…nice,” I remarked in the resulting silence after the crash.

I heard a grunt.

My shoulder twinged a bit, but it was already healing. “Krule?” He exhaled, but I
saw him looking at me, longing and frustration evident, his pride the only thing
bruised. “Will you please remove my hood?”

His gaze sharpened and grew intense. “Truly?”

I shrugged, which was a tad difficult lying on one side of my body, but explained
myself anyway. “The dumb spell is about to break and it’s probably time I stop
hiding,” I said, as we hid in a wardrobe.
Nodding slowly, he adjusted himself and raised both arms to my face.

“Wait,” I said, taking a deep breath, “make sure you destroy it for good. I want my
robe dead and gone, nothing remaining in the damn garment that I can fall back on.
Also, pretty sure Rescoven’s help is on its way and if we happen to cancel out the
recording spell for Lord Theros, so be it. The Sihvak’s book is what we need now.”

“As you wish,” he said.

Closing my eyes, I would have snorted at that particular phrase if it wasn’t for
the nerves running through my system. There was no denying that it was a big moment
for me. Soon I felt the spells, all of them, blink into nothing. And then I felt
the fresh air on my face, well, the fresh closeted air. Opening my eyes, I met
Krule’s.

His jaw had dropped. He didn’t need his excellent eyesight to spot my differences.

Reaching up, running my fingers through my hair, I pulled it free of the robe with
some difficulty. “It feels so good to get this mess out,” I said, as I flipped the
silky lengths all out onto the doors where my head lay sideways. Exhaling a breath
and enjoying the cool air on my neck for once, I said, “Hi. So, I’m human.” I
smiled a bit crookedly with a shrug. I was just going to get it over with. “Blunt
white teeth, multicolored eyes, delicate skin with no defenses, and dark, blondish
hair that is stupid crazy long, won’t stop growing, and constantly wants to crawl
down and nestle in my crack.”

Naturally, there was a tiny part of me worried that he wouldn’t like what he saw,
but then I inwardly shrugged that off. I was who I was. That said, I was well aware
I was an alien. Krule was just discovering that. There was bound to be some
surprise. Shock, even.

“Oh, blunt nails, too. But you already knew that,” I said, wiggling my five
fingers. “Come to think of it you’ve already seen my hands so you knew what my skin
looked like as well.” I shrugged. It felt good to be out, even if I was still in a
closet.

He had no words. His hand reached out, pausing near my face. I nodded. With the
pads of his calloused fingers, he gently touched the contour of my cheek, careful
not to get me with his claws. If felt, nice, not going to lie. Okay, more than just
nice. His eyes tracked the movement with intensity and wonder. He didn’t think me
hideous. Far from it judging by his reaction. Tingles raised on my skin where he
touched. Thoughts raging in my head, there was an instant desire to grasp his hand
and kiss his palm. I stalled.

“Do I even…” He murmured, then shook his head. “Kalla, you are the most vibr—”

His words cut off as our toppled wardrobe was suddenly pierced with an explosive
crack of mahdra, which suddenly fizzled out as it found its way inside, eaten
instantaneously by Krule.

Roaring, Krule ripping through the back of the armoire and splintering it like it
was nothing, he was out and free and tearing towards the one who fired the spell
from across the cavern. Cautiously, I peered out and saw two more figures running
away from the ravaging nightmare that was Krule. Leaping over crates at an alarming
speed, he was entirely focused on the third male holding some type of talisman at
him. The male, with Sahven and Falk features alike, aimed the object yet again and
yelled out an intended spell shakily as it ejected off a round of red, liquid fire.
Instead of finding its target, however, it slid around the K’Vrok, immediately
fizzling out. Before the smaller male could tuck-tail and run in desperation, Krule
made a monstrous leap, landing a direct punch to his face.

It caved in like an anvil to a watermelon.

With the body dropping in a sick, squelching thud behind him, Krule was a blur,
instantly pursuing the two that had fled into the nearby tunnels.

Realizing I was on my own for the moment, I clambered out of the wardrobe and made
my way to the stone slab, grabbing the book. Sweeping my eyes back and forth, I
detected a spot across the creepy lake that I could hunker down in and hide just in
case any more firesticks seemed to go off before Krule came back. Running at top
speed around the curving lake, dodging rocks and slipping only once, I dropped to
my knees and slid into the open side of the broken crate ripping my pants and
lacerating my skin. Instantly, I checked my surroundings. There were plenty of
places to hide and I wasn’t thinking of just me. There could have been someone else
here in the cavern quietly observing with ill intent.

In fact, that’s what I needed to deduce, and quickly. The book, however, was making
it difficult for me to sense other signatures of mahdra beyond its own. Pretty sure
that’s how I didn’t sense the others approaching before the attack. Now that I had
touched it, the evil power pulsed from the book like a sick radiation, masking
everything else.

Though that didn’t excuse Krule and me for getting distracted.

Shaking my head, I focused. No need to dwell on the fact that we had messed up a
bit. It was done.

Silently, I crouched in the crate and peered through the slats of the wood checking
on the three blackened doorways of the tunnels. Nothing. Not even screaming. Huh.
Weird considering a K’Vroken was probably ripping those two to pieces. Squinting, I
tried to feel past the rotten mahdra infecting the space.

Shit.

I was fairly sure the doorways were spelled again, in fact, I was betting on it.
After having been nulled dormant by Krule, the spell required a seasoned castor to
get them to function and hold mahdra effectively once again. Most likely there was
a Sahven in the room with me. I could call out for Krule, but the sound would
certainly be blocked at the thresholds. Shifting focus, I scanned any area where
one could hide. The pulsing residue of the book drifted its evil pervasively,
muting my abilities. I took a deep, fortifying breath.

“I know you’re here,” I said, taking a risk by speaking Sahven, perhaps drawing him
out and provoking his arrogance. My words echoed. Standing, slowly exiting the
cracked crate with my leather bound hostage, I eyed the tunnel where Krule had
disappeared into for a brief moment, then continued surveying the shadowed,
cluttered space. “The K’Vroken gave me a cursed stone used by his people to null
spelled objects. I will use it on this spellbook if you don’t show yourself.” I
figured some bullshitting would grant me a few more moments. “I know it’s been in
your family for centuries. I can feel the generations of Sihvak mahdra users in it,
sense the intensity of your proprietary mahdra used to make it. It’s very
impressive.” Peering into the semidarkness and discarded piles of wealth guardedly,
I made my way to the water’s edge, closer to Krule’s tunnel, just in case. “Don’t
make me destroy your family’s heritage.”

Finally, I heard it. Movement.

I stepped backward. Vrekk. He was right in front of me. He had been spelled
invisible the whole time. Trying to get my senses around the pulsating book, I soon
realized the Sahven in front of me had a similar energy signature to the evil book
in my grasp. Great. Sihvak for sure.

Sneering from a few spans away with white robes, white skin, long black hair, and
pitch black eyes, he looked the epitome of a highborn Sahven, blessed mahdra user.
Eyeing my hair and my face with contempt, he smoothly asked, “You dare threaten me,
mixed blood? Hybrid whore?” In his hand, he held one of the glistening instruments
his assistant had lovingly placed on the flat slab.

“Sure. You’re doing the same to me,” I answered right back, hoping for more time to
figure something out.

“Your ally may be formidable, but trust me, I’ve made sure he’s busy dealing with a
hundred-plus Sihvak house guards stationed in the connecting tunnels.”

“And you don’t care that they will all die? Because they most assuredly will.”

He shrugged. “It affords me time.”

Keep him talking, keep him talking….

“Time for what?” I asked.

But suddenly his answer didn’t matter as I was stabbed in the calf from behind.
Screaming, I scrambled to the side limping, still clutching the book, eyes darting
behind me to figure out what the hell just happened. A similar looking Sahven
unnaturally rose out of the black lake like a white, sneering wraith floating to
the shore. The ink, glass-like water sluiced off his dry form disturbingly without
a ripple.

“Time for that. Powering the End Stone,” the newcomer said smoothly, gesturing to
the dagger. He gave me a smug look as he raised his chin.

World seeming to swirl around me, the book toppled from my grasp as I fell
backward, blinking around suddenly blackening vision while I tried to fight the
power that instantly wanted to scream out of me and destroy all of Haell. The knife
was spelled as I realized it was drawing my power, bringing it to the surface, as
though their sickly white skin was touching me directly. But instead of being able
to control the pace at which my power flowed into the knife, to forge something new
and beneficial, they had unknowingly broken a dam and unleashed concentrated
irradiating fusion. They bypassed the mahdra entirely.

We. Were. Fucked.

Screaming, my insides burning, I clumsily reached for the knife and tried to pull
it out from the bone. It stuck firm. Even then, a snarling twin Sihvak knocked away
my hands and twisted it in deeper, only to be joined by his brother’s additional
clamping grip. My ears popped and sounds started to go in and out as a crescendo of
power swirled inside me, roiling in chaos, threatening to escape.

“Why isn’t it working? Father said this one was strong enough! We should have
waited for him—”

“Just keep holding on, it will soon die and the power will be transferred!”

“But—its eyes!”

Oh. Was I seeing? I had them open? Darkness now gone, all I saw was light.
Everywhere.

Whispers slamming into my being, my Sisters were acknowledging the current

situation as I brought my hands up, grasping what felt like my rapidly splitting
cranium. The breath-stealing power I was channeling was opening a door to a more
efficient communication level with the cosmos. They said one word, over and over:

CHANGE

Haell spoke, too, for the first time. He said:

BLOOD

Vrekk it all. Screaming, I tried to close it all off. One word cosmic commands
weren’t helping. Inwardly wrestling and fighting with all I was worth, feeling as
if I were tearing synapses and ripping my DNA to pieces, I tried to regain the part
of me who was Trick and dwelt on land, small and decidedly NOT planet sized.

I was not a God. No. Not today.

Blessedly, or cursedly, my eyesight came back, zeroing in on what was before me:
two kneeling Sahven now screaming along with me as I burned right through them,
their hands holding onto the ceremonial knife, fused to it by their melted flesh.
Watching in horror, most of their clothes already burnt to ashes, I saw their
pectorals, biceps, cheeks begin to slough off in disgusting, yet cooked, slabs of
meat and popping fat, even as they were stuck in agonizing consciousness.

And yet my temperature rose even higher.

No longer in shadow, the room was ablaze as if lit with the universe’s smallest
sister star, trying her damnedest not to burn through the planet. The Sihvak twins
soon went permanently silent in a rictus of death as their bones were lit up as if
under X-ray, bodies fracturing in the blinding light and soon falling to pieces,
then dust, then vaporized cells.

Crying out, I fell backward. The energy level maintained an effortless plateau of
pure, dominant, blazing power. My endless mantra of “no”, seemingly had gotten its
attention, at least not to increase the Kelvin. Soon, blessedly, it started to
recede, as if acquiescing to my frantic mental plea.

Closing my eyes, and concentrating on cooling off, I knew I wasn’t done. Inwardly,
I pulled and fought, recalling every irradiated particle in the room—in the rock,
in the hundreds of fissures—and ate them up as if wiping the crumbs up after
dinner.

Without looking, I felt the mahdra in the doorways to the tunnels zapping with
massive, crackling power, and for once breathed a sigh of relief. Instead of
fizzling out under my onslaught, they absorbed the energy. None of my blast had
made it out into the connecting tunnels as the mahdra on them now was jacked up on
astronomical steroids.

With the smell of ozone and flesh seared into my nostrils, I drifted away on the
utter alleviation of regaining some control. Any control.
Chapter twenty-six

Someone roared my name. I groaned and turned. Head pounding, I came to slowly, the
most recent events automatically first on my mind. No convenient memory loss for
me. Nope. I had vaporized two people. Assholes? Yes. But two evil assholes that
didn’t know better as they were raised in a house saturated in hate. Krule could
have ripped their heads off nice and easy and it would have been much tidier that
way. Well, maybe he could have ripped off their heads nice and slow because they
did deserve some level of—

“Trick!” the voice roared, yet again. Strangely though, it came through muffled.
Pretty sure it was Krule. Even though I knew the tunnels had been sealed off, my
heart sped up just thinking about how bad it could have turned out.

Sending a mental thanks out into the universe, I was aware my Sisters knew my heart
and had influenced a lot of what had just taken place. Yes, I had wrestled back
some semblance of control, but a young thing like me was bound to make mistakes and
I knew I had not been alone. They had helped me simmer down, even though they would
have been perfectly pleased with their little sis had I gone supernova instead.
That said, they knew how much my first planet-side jump had set me back. I think,
in the end, they wanted me happy.

Slowly sitting up, I moaned, my ears popping as I gingerly stretched my jaw and
turned my neck eliciting a few cracks. I was sore, my head throbbing. Hearing a
curious sound of wind around me, I opened my eyes to see nothing but darkness.

No, that wasn’t right.

Gathering my unruly hair from out of my face, I flipped it over my shoulder and
squinted. My eyes adjusting, papers fluttered in what looked like a cyclone of
parchment whirling around me in a frenzied opaque wall, my long hair drifting
outward again and wanting to join the swirling spell. Unable to peer out to see
beyond, I was suddenly thankful since it meant that no one could see in. Bringing
my knees up to the rest of my naked body, I realized my clothes had singed off into
nothing as I gazed at myself and then at the bare, stone floor. The Sahven spell
book was gone. I guess I did end up burning the thing, after all.

Opening up my other bruised senses, I deduced that the encompassing papers were
spelled with Resco’s mahdra. He was shielding me.

“Fist bump,” I weakly croaked out, then coughed. Strafing into the cyclone with me,
a silver book fluttered happily around my head two times, then opened up. English
script immediately began to appear:

“Please tell the K’Vroken to heed Lord Thero’s words and wait patiently at the
spelled tunnel entrance awhile longer. Even he is not immune to molten rock. My
parchments are working as fast as they can to lower the temperature of the cavern
and maintain the structural integrity of the room.”

Shit. “Krule,” I called out in Common, my voice too raspy to attempt K’Vrok. “I’m
okay. Just give the…papers time to do some necessary spellwork. Don’t dismantle the
mahdra yet.” I coughed a few times.

New words appeared.

“Thank you. I lament to tell you this, Trick, but your Drongo quill didn’t make it.
Just speak and I’ve modified Lady Silver to hear your words, as well as be able to
take ink. I promise I will find the majestic drongo for you and commission another
quill.”

It sucked, but it could have been worse. “No worries. Thank you.” Attempting to
stretch my arms, I suddenly stopped short. I didn’t want to risk a paper cut.

“In addition, and as I mentioned, Lord Theros is out in the stone hall. He
dispatched quite a few of the guards to get to you, though not as many as the
K’Vroken. That specimen was created for physical domination and murder—”

Snorting, I said, “I’m surprised you didn’t get in on the action. Don’t tell me
you’re not bloodthirsty yourself.”

“Spilling blood is necessary. I feel nothing doing it. However, yes, my parchments
detached a few throats, but mostly I was busy working spells and fortifying the
room—”

“And exploiting weaknesses, mapping out tunnels, learning secrets,” I said with a
smile. “Don’t deny it.”

“To you? Never. Because of your inside access to the dungeons, Lady Silver managed
to find one thousand, three hundred and twenty-one interconnecting tunnels of all
different sizes, five heavily mahdra-infused hidden entrances to the underground,
and eleven back doors to the council’s personal homes and other highborn officials.
Fascinatingly, the Sahven have not mapped out all the fissures and cracks below
them. I have done so instead. Ridiculous that they were so careless to allow enough
space for parchment to enter. It’s riddled with pathways and once Lady Star found
them I was able to coordinate on the outside. I should have done this sooner.”

“Lovely,” I said. “You think Theros can be trusted?”

“I believe he is useful and has plans for you and none of them involve you dying.
We shall use him for now and tentatively ally with him until he’s no longer a boon
to our cause.”

Raising my eyebrows at that, I asked, “Our cause? Whatever.” I waved that

conversation off with my hand. “Soooo, I killed two Sahven, by the way. Pretty sure
I’m going to be marked for death if I’m not already.”

“Yes, I know. The twins. Their father is Lork Ovorikan Sihvak, the second highest-
ranking member of the council. He will have felt his progeny die and is actively
looking to kill you as we speak. It shall be amusing to empty a seat of power
within the council…. Ah, the room is solid. They can enter.”

“Okay, it’s safe,” I called out, changing to Common, my voice seemingly restored
once again. “Also, I need someone’s shirt, or something,” I added meekly. The
papers still swirled protectively.

Immediately, I heard arguing growing nearer, with nasty insults directed at each
other. Neither commented on the mahdra around me.

“Trick, are you well?” Krule deeply growled in agitation, surprisingly close.

“Yes,” I said. “What about you—both of you, are you okay?”

“I am fine, along with the unthinking brute here,” Lord Theros said next to the
paper tornado. “You may use my garment as the K’Vroken’s is dripping in blood.”
“You were too, Theros,” Krule darkly responded.

“Yes, handy thing, mahdra, I can clean myself up with a spell. You cannot,” he
stated smoothly. “Also, blood is probably the wrong term to use in describing what
you are dripping in. More like a mixture of unidentifiable nasty bodily fluids due
to your hands-on approach to slaughtering our foe. Tell me, where is your sword? I
think things would have been tidier with your sword.”

Silence. I took that as a bad sign from a K’Vroken.

Not wanting them to physically fight, and having no idea if Rescoven would allow
them to reach through the cyclone, I called out, “I’ll send Lady Silver.” If they
were confused by that, they didn’t say. Nodding to the book, she then zoomed off,
only to dive back in moments later carrying a black, unbuttoned shirt. It was the
Black Line top that Lord Theros seemed to wear instead of the Sahven white robe
ensemble. Lady Silver had the collar tucked tightly in her pages. “Thank you,” I
told her.

“You’re most welcome, Trick,” Lord Theros answered, overhearing me.

Rolling my eyes, I began pulling up the sleeves and folding them. Standing a tad
shakily, I gradually buttoned the front. Once done, the cyclonic papers,
recognizing my state of dress, flew off and began coalescing into a vague shape of
a man, fluttering and moving continuously like an aged parchment golem, fabricated
as only a book-obsessed maker could fathom.

Resco was brilliant.

Tucking some hair behind my ear, I tried not to appear as insecure as I felt
wearing no binding and a massive shirt that went to the middle of my shins. A
single orb of light hovered by Lord Theros’s head and cast the whole shining,
recently melted but now cooled, obsidian room into a dark, glittering lantern.
There was nothing on the cave floor. All of it gone. Every single piece of fine,
discarded furnishings, wood and metal alike, had burned. The black, evil eye of
water, which I stared at in suspicion, steamed and swirled with a surprisingly
strong undercurrent. Its past column, gone.

Krule clenched and unclenched his hands by his side, his nostrils flaring. He was,
as Theros put it, dripping in a blueish-black ichor over every inch of his hulking
body. He stared at me with relief and something akin to, need? Giving him a small
nod, I briefly looked down at my feet to gather myself. His eyes conveyed too much
emotion to interpret correctly, or to spend time guessing at for the moment, so I
was relieved when I peered upwards and saw the intense look of his abate and some
of the tension in his shoulders lessen.

To be honest, mine did as well due to his presence. Considering what had just
happened, I needed all the help I could get.

Lord Theros was frowning, though he stared at me just as intently. This was his
first time seeing me without the robe. Despite the shirt, I still felt naked. If he
was shocked, he hid it well as his face held no displeasure or disgust. In fact, he
kept looking from my eyes to my hair as if trying to figure out the color.

Which was understandable, especially in the darkness. Even in normal light I had a
tough time deciding if my hair was highlighted brown, blonde, or just gold with a
hint of copper. And my eyes? One blue, the other purple and amber. Courtesy of
Haven and being born as their property. They did whatever they wanted, experimented
however they wished as long as the client didn’t object.
Shallowly, changing eye color was an easy, cheap fix for them even after a clone
was hatched. For me, however, due to hardware maintenance on the optical lasers,
the bored techs saw an opportunity to experiment and modify an old method hoping it
could save even more money, perhaps to line their own pockets. Didn’t go as
planned. Hence the heterochromia. I wasn’t worth fixing. The client didn’t need my
eyes and Haven had plenty of prettier ones to harvest anyway.

Taking a deep breath, inwardly I checked all the metaphysical walls I had just
erected in a matter of minutes after having gone white light for a moment. They
were not as comprehensive as before. Mind you, I’d get them back to snuff, but it
would take time, like a matter of days, time. Fragile dynamite, here.

Rubbing my face, I took a moment.

“So,” I said looking at the golem, then the two males, “I got busted out of jail by
a K’Vroken, killed two Sahven children of Ovorikan Sihvak’s line, and destroyed all
evidence linking them to the abductions. To top that off, Resco says daddio is
making his way here to kill me as I speak.”

“It would make sense,” Theros began, “the Sihvak line has always had the darkest
voice on the council, the nastiest predilections, and now we realize, the most
secrets to hide.”

“And you are not hiding ulterior motives, Sahven?” Krule bit out, his massive arms
crossed while he glared at the pristine Theros standing there without his shirt on.

For most females on Haell the Sahven before me would have been drool worthy. He was
of the 'superior race', had perfectly formed alabaster muscles, unflinching
confidence, and wealth to boot. But I didn’t like perfect. Not after Haven. It was
one of the reasons why I eventually started to like my mistake eyes. My face had
messed with Haven’s pursuit of perfect symmetry.

Casting a glance at the water, ignoring the threatening aura coming off of Krule
due to Theros’s presence, I pointed. “What’s up with that?” The water seemed to
continue to churn, but there was something more. Resco’s watchful golem fluttered
and reformed 'facing' the lake. Lady Silver opened in front of me. Quickly, I
scanned the English words and then translated them aloud:

“It is an underground lake connected to the ocean. I believe you vaporized off the
water in the cavern and it has been refilling itself from the underwater cave
systems since. Though I’ve tracked and mapped nearly every opening and every flaw
in this particular mountain, I did not have time to map any underground caves. This
is an excellent way of entering the cavern mostly undetected…”

Well, trick. Considering I had just gotten stabbed by a man hiding in this same
lake, I cast my senses out to try to find any indication of something nefarious
other than the questionable current.

And there it was: Mahdra. A huge ol’ heap of it.

“Mahdra incoming,” I said, backing off from the shore. Lady Silver buzzed and
opened up to a new page saying:

“Interesting. Excellent news.”

Rolling my eyes at that, I noticed Krule immediately stepping in front of me and

preparing himself for another fight. He seemed bigger as if swelling or, shifting
to become even more deadly. I wondered if that was a K’Vroken thing.
Fluttering apart as if hit with a sudden breeze from the deep, the golem’s
thousands of comprising pages strategically spread themselves around the cavern,
hovering and waiting to execute methodical, possibly savage orders. Lord Theros
stepped away from Krule and uncoiled his snake-like mahdra and directed it to form
in both hands. Soon, whips of crimson, molten mahdra coalesced into existence. He
waited palms out.

The water now appeared as if it were boiling. Large bubbles began to surface, with
the lake lapping at the jagged obsidian edges of the cavern floor as if it were
preparing to spew. I sucked in a breath. Like a low-tech leviathan rising from the
deep, a blackwood ship emerged from the swirling stygian liquid, its shape wholly
different than what we had been searching for out in the bay.

Blinking, I stood peering around Krule’s arm. Well, what do you know?

It was crude, looked a bit beat up like they just recently had a crazy ride—it
wouldn’t have survived the water’s pressure without the crap ton of mahdra I
currently sensed around it—but, it was a sub. Shockingly large one, too,
considering the small spaces it most likely had to maneuver around in the submerged
cave systems. No wonder we couldn’t find it. In addition, it had a bulky cargo door
which explained the crates and furniture.

“Krule, can you detect how many people are in there?” I asked. My mahdra perception
had once again been maxed out as the ship’s presence seeped everywhere. My frayed
senses and resurging adrenaline didn’t help, either.

“Eight heartbeats,” he said immediately.

“Pity,” Theros remarked, blandly.

“Well, a few of those could be innocents. Do you think you can get me on the ship?”
I asked Krule. “If there are any abductees inside they’ll piss their pants in a
panic if they see either one of you,” I said with conviction, my gaze taking them
both in.

Theros and Krule made eye contact. “When it is safe I will,” Krule said, once again
focusing on the black ship.

Probably a good plan.

The ship’s slow, measuring rise was interrupted by a dive-bombing piece of

parchment in the shape of a folded arrow hitting its port side, courtesy of Resco.
It stuck firm in the surrounding Sahven-made shield and began to vibrate. Lines of
spellwork illuminated, as fissures threatened the stability of the spell. With an
ear-popping crack, the mahdra bubble burst, lessening the metaphysical onslaught
I’d been feeling, as the ship rose violently. Waves crashed on the shore as large
amounts of cascading water sluiced off its rounded form.

Wasting no time, the door to the ship began to open at the top, lowering itself
like a large gangplank. The opening illuminated the black cavern as the cargo door
descended dramatically, backlighting three white robed figures standing evenly
spaced apart, the tallest in the center.

Which seemed so, rehearsed.

Perhaps it was my overactive and highly stressed imagination to blame, most likely
my cracked personality with being a weird foreigner who has watched too many vids,
but I couldn’t help envisioning these guys as coming down to make first contact on
a new planet. Or popping up, in this case. All that was missing was some dry ice
eerily fogging the gangplank and hovering over the threateningly black, turbulent
water. Well, the door could have used a dramatic hiss sound, too. Either way, the
whole situation appeared as if they forgot their alien kid on their last RV trip
and performed a U-turn to come pick him up.

Oh, wait—that’s right. I killed their kids.

Laughing out, slapping a hand over my mouth, Krule shifted his stance but didn’t
risk giving me a look. Immediately I noticed that the center grand poo-bah wasn’t
the tallest due to good genetics, no. Wearing a lofty, rounded, white hat, for a
fraction of a second I wondered if perhaps it was worn for some bizarre religious
reason as he tortured the lesser…except it had a large, gold embroidered symbol on
it that indicated something else if I interpreted its Haellish meaning correctly.
It appeared to be an anchor.

My shoulders shook. A helmsman of the deep, this one, captaining his mighty ship.
Whooo, lives in a pineapple under the—

Spells began to fly. No words, no monologues, just plain: I want you dead.
Extending itself by mahdra to the shoreline, the gangplank grew. More white robes
ran out. Based on the insidious energy being thrown around, all were family. The
Sihvaks being led by Lord Ovorikan were all assholes, indeed. Counting only seven
of them, one more remained on the ship. I needed to make sure that he was okay
because I had a feeling he was in a cage. Or her.

Krule, in front of me, absorbed spell after spell. Rather than going berserk, he
was in protection mode, moving and pivoting as a massive shield with one arm behind
him making sure I was where I should be. Undoubtedly, he could have easily joined
the fray by punching through some chests and ripping out a few hearts with no
worries to his person in terms of spell danger. It would’ve probably been faster
for all of us that way should he have done so. But it was clear he wasn’t going to
leave me exposed.

Safeguarded as I was, getting on the ship and finding the eighth heartbeat was
still a must. That said, I wasn’t a selfish ass. Krule’s protection was amazing and
staying where I was behind the wall of the K’Vrok was my best shot at not going
supernova again. I just hoped the person inside would fair well in the surrounding
onslaught.

Whipping around, disintegrating deadly shots of mahdra like a flock of vicious

birds plucking out much needed organs, parchment dominated the air. With Sihvak
spells suddenly failing, others went wide, blasting into the cave’s walls. Hundreds
of pages, having been hit directly, lay singed or fluttered down to the blackened
floor. No matter. Thousands remained.

Lord Theros, working just as feverishly in the sweltering cavern, whipped his
crackling mahdra ropes like seething vipers severing limbs with abandon. I think it
was his particular style as I looked to my right and saw a torso on the ground.
Just a cauterized torso. Where the other appendages were, I had no idea.

Roaring out, Krule flexed as yet another spell flew in his direction and was
instantly absorbed. Ears ringing, the sound amplified and echoed off the walls with
a force all its own. Cracking off the ceiling, a recently cooled stalactite sheered
off and plummeted directly downward as it skewered and smashed into the body of a
crawling, blood-smeared Sahven. His slithering ceased. A lone, ivory hand remained
outside of the rubble clenching a spelled knife.

Wide-eyed, heart pounding, I clutched at the back of Krule’s vest just as a fire
spell encased us, right before blinking out. Krule cast a backward glance at me
grinning. I huffed. These guys were insane.

“Why don’t I keep a hold of you and we get closer to the fight to help?” I asked,
trying to be useful, or at least not occupy Krule’s time so badly.

“Trick,” he laughed lowly, “no. They are fine. See?” He gestured with his free
palm.

With his arm up, I grasped Krule’s torso and looked around him just in time to see
the last two Sahven, besides Ovorikan himself who was currently ducking Theros’s
lashing mahdra, being handled by Resco’s reformed golem. The paper wraith moved in
a slow and fluid dreamlike motion, yet the deadly papyrus sheets whipped around it
with such blurring speed that I barely saw the spellcasting Sihvak’s mouth get
smothered by parchment. The first sheet, that is. I did notice the next hundred
plaster over the Sahven’s head as the enemy struggled to breathe and extricate
himself. It didn’t work.

As the suffocated male thudded to the ground, Resco already had a screeching female
Sihvak swatting furiously at another swarm of paper. However, Rescoven’s
undertaking was suddenly interrupted by an abrupt buzzing sound and the instant
decapitation of the female’s head by, well, none other than Lady Silver herself,
folded outward and spinning like a shiny, circulating blade.

Zooming out in a silver blur and taking viscera with her, the long-haired Sihvak
head impacted the ground in her wake. The book flapped happily like the little
birdie boo she was, shaking off the blue blood with a shimmying shiver. As if they
were nothing but droplets of violet rain after an afternoon jaunt in mild, wet
weather.

She paused and hovered. The cave went quiet.

“Oh, good job, girl,” I praised.

“That one,” Theros said, looking down at the gaping mouth of the female’s head that
Lady Silver severed, “was terribly irritating when alive.”

“It’s a Sahven trait. That’s why we prefer you dead,” Krule remarked casually.

Ovorikan screamed out. All around him his evil family lay dead, dismembered,
crushed. His captain’s hat, or whatever purpose it signified for my torture, had
been knocked off sometime during the fight.

“You!” Dismissing Theros entirely, he pointed a wicked-looking scepter at me and

fired off an impressive round of mahdra at us—which Krule promptly stood in front
of and ate. Ovorikan didn’t stop. “You—you bow to your superiors!”

“Uh, no?” Looking up at the K’Vrok and meeting his eyes, I asked, “Does he honestly
think I will?”

Shrugging, Krule answered, “Sahven are prickly delicates and many do not know how
to live life and cope outside their own assholes. He is confused and out of his
element. Watch,” he nodded his head as if we were viewing nature take place, “he
still draws closer uncaring that as K’Vrok, his spells are meaningless to me, also
completely unaware of what is gathering behind him.”

“Oh, you’re right. I see it,” I said fascinated, eyes taking it in.

Resco’s golem began pulsating, appearing to silently speak, its 'mouth' opening and
closing as if the Keeper was working a different, trickier type of spell remotely
from Vahlta Hall. Ovorikan, still fixated and spewing hate, was oblivious to his
distracted audience. None of his words really registered to us as more of his
mahdra spells were effortlessly eaten by Krule. Theros, casually performing a
cleansing spell on himself, watched with a raised brow.

And then Rescoven struck, or in this case, stopped speaking. The spell was
complete.

Instantly, the Sahven councilman was naked.

“What the vrekk, Resco!” I exclaimed, stunned. The ivory, bare-assed Sahven
suddenly went quiet, covering his milky-white manhood with his scepter and looking
around wildly.

Theros, looking on barely reacting, his voice smooth like silk, commented,
“Really?”

Krule tried to shield me with his body, but his shoulders were shaking again.

“What the hell is going on—I seriously doubt you wanted a peep show before you kill
the—”

Golem dismantling, suddenly all the parchment flew outward toward the Sahven
councilman forming a whirling cyclone around his lone form. Just as I concluded
Rescoven was screening us from Ovorikan’s nakedness, screams erupted. And then
screaming continued even as the papers finished whatever they were doing. Stopping
their cyclonic assault, they fluttered and casually reshaped as a papery Resco off
to the side. The white skin of Ovorikan seemed completely unblemished.

That was until tiny spots of blood began to pool and bead up on slices so thin that
I didn’t understand…

Paper cuts. Everywhere. All over his body.

“Oh, hell, no,” I said in a whisper covering my mouth, my stomach instantly sick.

Hissing, Krule let out a curse and recoiled with a hand covering his male parts as
he watched on in transfixed horror.

“Vrekk,” Theros remarked unthinkingly through his fingers as his hand was over his
mouth just like mine. “I mean, remarkable. But vrekk.” He had stepped back and
twisted his body away from the obscene display. Just in case, I assumed.

It was too much. The sounds of agony, the sight. I gagged. And then gagged again,
ears beginning to ring.

I had a thing about paper cuts. My body healed everything almost instantly, but
paper cuts were the shits of the universe. Ovorikan’s body was now one gory, pulpy,
mess of cobalt blood. And as he moved and flailed in torment, the bone deep slices
opened and split even more. There wasn’t even a way to meet his eyes as they were
covered in fissures themselves and dripping in his fluids. Falling to his knees,
the pain unbearable and torturous, he cried out in horror at the unrelenting misery
of his flayed, current existence.

Retreating, I took a few steps over to the lake edge holding my mouth, gagging here
and there. Behind me I heard Theros address Krule, “Will you kill him then? This is
secondhand misery.”

“No. You do it. You’re closer,” Krule said.

“I just got clean.”

A whizzing noise, then a thunk. No more screaming.

“Oh, well, I guess that’s easy. Let the book do it,” Lord Theros said.

Lady Silver, rushing to my side, fluttered the blue blood off into the lake happily
wriggling and expecting more praise like before. I couldn’t help myself. “You”—gag
—“are such a good little”—gag—“girl, aren’t you?” I managed to haltingly coo.
Someone snorted in the background. Lady Silver preened.

And then her spine opened and script flowed on her page.

“Really—you are feeding these books way too much power. They are starting to have
minds of their own! I was hoping to deduce how long exsanguination took with a
highborn Sahven as a test subject for this particular method of death. Very vexing,
your Lady Silver.”

Reading in English, but preparing my retort in Common, I shrugged and rubbed my raw
throat. “Okay first? Kudos on disarming Ovorikan, but, calm down Satan,” I
breathed, taking a moment to avoid another heave, “Second, she is a wonderful
helper so don’t be so vexed. Geez.”

“Yes, well—”

“Well what?” I asked. “You should probably thank her,” I said, a smirk coming back
to my face.

Shocked, yet impressed at Rescoven’s innovative savagery, I turned to see how Krule
was taking this conversation with a raise of my brow, as in, 'Can you believe this
guy?' Shaking my head about to laugh in incredulity, suddenly I was shot with a
stream of mahdra hitting me square in the chest.

Hiccuping, I took a small step back.

Dazedly, I looked down at where my body absorbed the energy. Then up. A lone,
white-robed Sahven was on the ship holding a dumb, damn scepter of his own.
Confused and trembling, obviously he had expected me to die. Now he had a K’Vroken
heading his way, currently leaping off the shore to tear him apart.

But of course I didn’t die. He merely fracked up my tenuous restraint.

“Ah, trick me,” I cursed, my vision once again getting blotchy.

Chapter twenty-seven

This time I fought for control immediately. There was no time to bemoan my
circumstances, no time to dwell on the fact that I had been wrong and zero
innocents were on that ship. It was just one remaining adult Sihvak kiddo, or
nephew, or Uncle Rico, or whatever hiding in the cargo hold like a rat. And now
with his time nearly up, he was firing mahdra arcs widely.
A blast hit, then another stalactite fell behind me, crashing to the floor.
Squinting my eyes around the black spots forming, seeing Krule reaching the ship,
he instantly ended the male’s life by ripping out his throat and sending the
partially bloodied vertebrae into the deep with a rage-filled splash.

Haell sure liked blood. He kept telling me so, now that the doors were once again
open to celestial communication. I think he liked this particular K’Vrok, too. The
Sisters, however, they kept talking.

CHANGE

Sorry, not right now…

Not that I knew what they meant by change. Not at all.

“The ceiling is cracking,” Lord Theros observed idly, but his eyes were shrewdly on
me. “I believe we are no longer welcome here.”

I huffed. And then instantly regretted it since it messed up my breathing. Slowly,

my vision began to sharpen. Krule, leaping off the ship, crashed into the water
near the shore. Much of the blood was washed off as he ran up to me and took my
hand. He was taking, eating my excess energy.

Thank the Goddesses.

“This isn’t hurting you, is it?” I asked in relief.

He shook his head, but his eyes seemed to blaze. “You could never hurt me, Trick.”

“Yes, well, all very interesting, but we are about to be crushed,” Theros said,
walking up.

Just then Resco’s golem, which had been oddly focused on me as I breathed through
the influx of terrible looming power, began to dismantle and reshape. The massive
flock of paper flew up, swirling in a sphere, then began to crash down with each
individual page hitting the floor with mahdra, one after another with blaring speed
and ferocity. With my hair flying around me as the pressure built, papers crashed
as Resco continued to weave his immensely powerful spell. The individual sleeves of
parchment were coming together as if they were always part of one whole, popping as
they seamed together, emerald mahdra illuminating the cave as a large, single
hardback book began to form. The size of a giant’s atlas, it rose a few feet as the
last page added itself to the cover. And then it crashed right back down to the
hard, glittering black floor with enough force to blast my long tresses behind me,
opening its spine while doing so.

The massive pages flipped to the center. Gradient, green spells danced across it,
practically vibrating the cavern with the amount of energy and brilliance it had
taken to create and power it. Instantly, Lady Silver was opening in my face, text
appearing in Common language. The males behind me read Rescoven’s words while I
did:

“Jump in. Now.”

“No—not without these two,” I sputtered, shocked at what was happening, my hand
gripping Krule’s ever tighter.

“No time. The K’Vrok will destroy my intricate spellwork and you will most
assuredly kill Lord Theros in travel. I will allow them to take Lady Silver in the
tunnels with them as a guide—but you, you didn’t tell me that the Sisters were
speaking to you. There is CHANGE coming, Trick. You need to get home NOW.”

Oh. That word. Change.

I looked to Krule.

“Go, Kalla bird,” he said, releasing my hand with the sure grin of a fearless
warrior. Without looking away from my eyes, eyes he seemed to be drinking in, he
addressed Theros. “Race to the top, Sahven?”

“Why yes, but not until this one jumps,” he answered, looking at me expectantly.

Another stalactite crashed in the back of the cave. Fractures sounded as

splintering obsidian cracked all around us. With one last look at Krule, with my
power ramping up once more, I took a step and then held it, my barefoot hovering
over the large tome before me. Praying that the three of them would get out in
time, I then placed my foot down, my skin touching the warm spellwork.

Instantly, in a vacuum of undeniable power, my world went traumatically white.

Chapter twenty-eight

See, I had always hoped for an afterlife. I lived once on an orbiting space station
called Haven that boasted the latest biotechnology in cloning and parts
procurement, catering to the richest clientele on Earth. It was founded to help
humanity achieve their best while looking their best, all the while mired in greed
and driven by insatiable vanity and the need for power.

Haven, advertised as a type of heaven, was hell for a clone like me.

But that was then. The prelude.

This was my afterlife now. Or I guess, my real life. On a planet called Haell, it
felt like the best type of home: erratic, bloodthirsty, full of sentient books,
intriguing allies, and a place where talk of change was whispered in the electric
air. And with a battery pack of stars behind me, I was probably never going to die
again. I wasn’t meant to. The Sisters made sure of that.

But sure, despite never having taken a hallucinogenic drug in my life, my mind
absolutely went nope here and there. Physically and mentally trippin’ balls in the
cosmos was just going to have to be something I factored into my new existence.

Especially since I just came out of yet another episode.

Groaning, peering one eye open, I found myself stomach down, cheek plastered on my
bed and staring at what would be my wardrobe except that it was covered in vines
and greenery, eclipsing any and all view of it. Pushing myself up haltingly, my
back aching and shoulders throbbing, I was instantly greeted by a swarm of books
fluttering delightfully in front of me. Red had squeezed underneath and was warming
the sheets with his humming pages.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” I croaked, smiling. Resco’s minions sure were the
best. Giving my Red Giant a pat, I rolled my sore neck. Glancing behind me to
casually take in the rest of the room, my world instantly went on pause as I tried
to comprehend what I was witnessing.

My breath froze on the intake.

Forget the distressing amount of unnatural overgrowth from my plants, or the piles
of books eclipsing the number of pillows tenfold. What I saw overrode all
peripheral thoughts. There were wings. On my back.

Oh. Trick. Me.

I must have said that aloud.

There was a squeal.

Instantly, Nika was at my side hugging me, a huge smile on her face as she
exclaimed, “You’re awake! Oh my, I was so worried. It’s been months. At first I
thought you were very ill, but the Keeper,” she made a face, obviously not a huge
fan of Rescoven and his prickly ways, “insisted that you were just resting for
awhile after all that happened. I can’t believe that you’re okay and that you’ve
slept so long! The city is in an uproar and Lord Theros of the Black Line is vying
for a seat on the council even though it is rumored that he killed the Sihvaks! The
entire family—can you believe that?”

Pausing, she slowly took in my body language.

“Nika,” I said measuredly, my eyes capturing her attention, then turned to look at
my massive white wings, before turning back to her. I raised my brows.

“Oh Trick, I’m sorry you don’t have your robe on to hide under its mahdra,” she
said looking down then up, concluding. “But I don’t either and I wanted to help you
and take care of you while you were resting, and well,” she threw her hands up, “I
always knew you were deformed in some way. It’s not like it’s a big deal to me at
all!”

Deformed? I looked at my wings again. Gracelessly, they flexed out like an awkward,
confused drongo hitting a bunch of vines draping around the bed. Well, now, I guess
I was.

I snorted.

Just then, Lady Silver flew in and did a celebratory dance around my room and head.
Coming to a hovering stop in front of me, the book opened.

“Good morning, Lady. Your K’Vroken is a nuisance.—R”

I laughed.

About Author
Convinced her mind was born under a wandering star, Bridget Hawley spent her
formative childhood years not brushing her hair and falling from trees. If not
outdoors singing to the wind, she made a point to disappear and hunker in her
grandparents' basement. With Ella Fitzgerald singing of "stars shining bright
above", Bridget's thoughts drifted to far-off places as Katharine Hepburn's sultry
eyes gazed down from the wall, Clark Gable played poker, and Steve McQueen flipped
her the bird.

These days her hair remains unruly. Preferring a corner if inside, her mind will
still wander and explore stories with humor, science fiction, fantasy, romance, and
misfits driven by chaotic good. And if outside, Idaho's Rockies and high desert
give her room to breathe and run with the people she loves most.