Aethersmith (Book 2) (13 page)

Kyrus perceived little motion among the Sources he saw; time
was slowed to the point of nearly stopping. He tried to stop and watch some
single Source for a time to check his assumption that time was still passing,
but his thoughts would not hold still enough for him to make such a painstaking
observation. He flitted about like a hummingbird bereft of its innate
navigator, his attention drawn to something only to find that he had sped to it
as quickly as he could form the thought.

A sudden chilling feeling pervaded Kyrus’s discorporate
form. His movements began to slow; his vision started to grow hazy.
Aether.
I must be using up what I had drawn
. Kyrus called to the aether. It
responded sluggishly, like an ocean of honey oozing toward him, grudgingly
heeding his summons, where normally it snapped to his call as a gale wind. The
syrupy aether invigorated him as he drank it in, more aware of its feel as he
had no bodily distractions to dilute the experience.

I cannot stay in this form indefinitely. I need to find a
place to reform and emerge into the world. Someplace Tippu will lose sight of
me.

Kyrus was a bit uncertain of the geography as related to the
aether. It was not the same as seeing the aether overlaid upon the world of
light, as he had grown so accustomed to seeing it. The ground was as permeable
to aether as was the air, or the sea for that matter. Air would have been fine
had he not wished to hide upon his re-emergence, but water suited his purpose
better. Kyrus watched until he saw what was either a flock of birds or a school
of fish, and settled upon the latter being most likely. He moved to within
their midst, and willed the aether sphere and the inert Kyrus within to come to
him. Once it had surrounded him, he released the magic.

Kyrus had but a fraction of a second to gulp air as the
temporary pocket that came with him from the beach collapsed under the weight
of the Katamic. He fought down the panic as the weight of the water crushed in
on him suddenly, and was thankful for the protection of his tattooed ward that
his ribs were not crushed as well. He was much farther below the water’s
surface than he had expected.

Though not a strong swimmer, Kyrus was still adept at silent
telekinesis magic and he used that to yank himself up to the surface. He gasped
for air and saw that he was staring out to sea. From behind him, he heard
frantic shouting from the beach.

Wonderful. Kahli found Tippu and they both just noticed
me.

Kyrus began a slow, resigned swim to shore.

* * * * * * * *

“I hear your training went poorly today,” Toktu commented,
taking a bite from a spit of boar, and passing it on to the next reveler. It
was the evening of the equinox, which was one of the many days the Denku took
for feasting. All along the beach, festive fires were lit and the islanders
danced, sang, and shared both tales and drink.

“I need more practice. I will do better,” Kyrus responded.
He sat not far from the elder, who was widowed and had no wives to attend him
with the fawning attention Kyrus studiously ignored from Tippu and Kahli.

“I am told that Tippu asked you to use your magic on her,”
Naknah added. She was another of the elders, as well as Tippu and Kahli’s
common grandmother. She looked much like Kyrus would have imagined either of
them to look had they been left for long years in the sun to dry. She was
darker skinned, but it had a greyish cast to it; it did not shine or glisten as
Kyrus’s companions’ did, and her curves had receded to sharp angles covered by
sagging skin. Her head she kept clean shaven in perpetual mourning for her
long-dead husband. “I thank you for showing wisdom by telling her ‘no,’” she
said.

“Thank you.” Kyrus nudged the inattentive Tippu, who was
curled at Kyrus’s side, eating a hollowed mango that had recently been filled
with liquor. “Do you hear your grandmother? Listen to her when you would not
listen to me, next time.” Kyrus paused a moment, uncertain whether that came
out quite right. The point seemed lost on Tippu anyway, who looked up long
enough to nod in the way that children learn when they are required to agree
with their elders: insincerely, but with feigned deference.

“How much longer do you think until you are ready?” Gahalu
asked.

It was a question that hung in many minds, but the Denku
struggled to bring themselves to broach the subject with Kyrus. It seemed such
an impolite question from all angles. By asking it, they admitted they were
pondering his departure, which made them seem poor hosts. By telling him they
wished him to stay, they imposed upon him selfishly. Mostly, it seemed, they
just wished that Kyrus would change his mind after a time and decide not to go
at all.

“You got your magic to work, at least a little,” Gahalu
said.

“Not long. I was not ready for a long go (the best word
Kyrus could think of for a journey). A little more practice. A plan to find
home and I go.” Kyrus nodded. “I mean to come back,” he stated, “once I find
the one I left. I want to bring her here. This is a good place. Good home.”

“Did you tell them that?” asked Kappi, another of the
elders, nodding toward Tippu and Kahli.

“Each night when I came here, more times than I counted. I
stopped. They do not listen,” Kyrus explained.

But they were listening. Kyrus had felt them tense when he
mentioned the girl he had left back home. Abbiley was a sore subject with them.
Kyrus had explained about her when he first arrived—that she was the one he
wished to be with and that he longed to go home to see her. They had insisted
that he was better off with them, making every effort to supplant this mystery
foreigner in Kyrus’s heart.

The feast lasted long into the night. The Denku were experts
at merriment and hard drinkers for the most part. Kyrus had learned his lesson
and managed to drink little, despite vessels of various sweet-smelling drinks
being passed to him. His head was clear as he made his way to the secluded
stone house that was his home for whatever little time he would remain among
the Denku. With his success on the beach, he was confident that his time in
paradise was nearly at an end, at least until he could return with Abbiley.

In his footsteps followed a rather less-sober Tippu and
Kahli, who leaned on one another for support. He could not follow their
slurred, hushed conversation in a language he only somewhat knew, but he could
tell they were not happy with him. He ignored them as best he could as he
entered the house.

“You cannot leave,” Kahli said deliberately, in the manner
of a drunk who realized she is drunk and wished to make herself understood to
someone less so.

“I told you too many times,” Kyrus began, and Tippu put a
hand over his mouth.

“She is not finished saying,” Tippu stated, nodding to her
cousin to continue.

“Ya. No, you cannot leave. I am carrying your baby,” Kahli
finished, nodding for emphasis and awaiting Kyrus reaction.

Kyrus looked hard at the younger girl. She was perhaps two
years his junior, yet seemed such a child at times. She was desperate to keep
Kyrus, no matter the cost. He could see the tears welling behind an indignant
mask, accusing Kyrus of paternity to leash him to her side. She was hoping, no
doubt, to put truth to it before he saw through her ruse, but it was the seeing
that was her problem.

“Kahli. You cannot lie to me. My eyes,” Kyrus pointed to
them, “are spirit man’s eyes. I see life. If you had a baby, even a tiny one,
growing in you, I would see it.”

“No, it is very new and you will—” Kahli began, but Kyrus
cut her off with a gesture. It was not a conversation he ever expected or hoped
to have. He wished it were Brannis in his place.

How would Brannis handle this? He would never have let it
carry on this far. He managed to refuse Juliana in his bed and send her back to
her own and he loves her more than anyone. I let two girls who were little more
than strangers to me share my bed and constantly scheme to seduce me. Brannis
would either have sent them away immediately or shared an evening or two with
them and let some other lucky girls have their chance, I would wager. He would
be envied by the hunters and the other Denku men and gossiped over by half the women,
but he would never have let himself become the pet of two little wisps of girls
who act like spoiled children.

Kyrus had paused long enough that Kahli was about to begin
speaking again. “Go,” he finally spoke and pointed out the door of his house.
His tone left no ambiguity about his meaning. Tippu, crouched down next to
Kyrus, tried to curl up to him to avoid being lumped together with Kahli, but
it was for naught. “You, too. Go.”

As the two sullen girls departed his house with tears in
their eyes, Kyrus knew he had finally done the right thing with them. He cast a
shielding spell over the open doorway, and threw his sleeping mat up onto the
bed where it belonged.

Kyrus knew that the old familiar method of Acardian sleeping
would avail him little; it was to be an awkward night’s sleep. Being in the
right would not assuage his conscience from the hurt he had given Tippu and
Kahli; it was his own fault for allowing them to become so attached. He also
knew that it was the first day of springtime in Kadrin and Brannis was set to
have a lousy day as well.

Chapter 8 - Pursuits

The reflection stared back at Soria from a handspan away,
upper lip curled back, examining her teeth. They stood straight as pickets,
evenly spaced, ideally proportioned to her face. As she watched, they gradually
turned just the slightest shade whiter, undoing the damage of a few weeks’
neglect. With a finger, she pulled at the corners of her mouth to see the more
reclusive teeth in back and below, touching them up just a tinge as she went.

That artist girl has peasant teeth. Mine would never have
looked like that even if I had no magic to fix them.

Soria had taken up the rather Kadrin habit of “guiding” her
appearance through the subtle use of magic ever since Juliana had learned the
tricks of it at the Academy as a young girl. Unlike Juliana, Soria had no
mother to shepherd her as she practiced, nor to keep her pretty as a babe
before she was old enough to manage it on her own.

Soria’s mother had been a priestess of Tansha the Merciful One,
traveling the world with Soria’s father to spread the joys of the goddess’s
blessings. Their untimely deaths in Khesh had landed Soria in the care of the
Tezuan Sun, an ascetic order that raised orphans and trained them to carry on
in their traditions. Soria could neither picture her parents nor remember their
names. The ascetics at the temple knew only her parents’ business in Khesh. Of
her origins, all she had was the tale of their deaths: murdered, robbed,
stripped of any trinket or document that might have given clues to trace them
to their homeland. Her parents’ killers were ruthless and cold-blooded, but not
monstrous. Their greed demanded nothing that involved the killing of a child
not yet four years old.

Taken in by responsible but dispassionate folk in the
ascetics of the Tezuan Sun, Soria had disconnected herself from the waking
world. She sleepwalked through her days to play as a princess in the magical
world of Kadrin in her dreams. She had taken Ophelia Archon to be her mother,
much more real in her dreams than her own mother had become in her childlike
memories, which had faded past hazy to become only memories of memories. Soria
had loved it when Juliana had her hair colored fanciful pinks and violets as a
young girl, and was saddened each morning when she awoke to find her own
mundane looks staring back at her from the washing pool.

Soria worked her lips about to limber them again after the
stretching she had given them, then wiped her wet finger on her tunic. She
leaned in close to the aether-formed mirror she had fashioned and gave a big,
toothy smile.
Perfect
, she thought, but had little enthusiasm behind
that thought. It felt unnatural—not the magical enhancement but the smile
itself. Soria’s smile was impish, sly, even wicked at times, but never like the
goofy, vapid look she had just seen. Pretty though it might have been, she
could not get her eyes to bolster it properly; it was a smile for show and she
knew it. It was the sort of smile Juliana would be needing shortly …

Soria shook her head to clear that image from her mind. The
less she thought of her wedding in Kadrin, the better off she would be.

Her preening was no reflection upon the other world at all;
she wanted to look her best when she finally tracked down Brannis (or Kyrus, or
whatever name he wished to use in her world). She had met his counterpart’s
paramour, and knew whom she was liable to be compared with. Soria scrunched up
her face and gave a disgusted huff.

Stepping back from the aether mirror for a moment, Soria
pulled her tunic off and threw it carelessly on the bed. The captain’s cabin
was modest, but it was the best that the
Yorgen’s Bluff
had to offer and
Soria’s troupe had paid more than sufficiently to commandeer it for their
voyage to Marker’s Point, as well as a room for Zell, Tanner, and Rakashi to
share. Soria wanted her privacy and there were occasions when her contentious
friends knew she would not be argued with; sleeping three to a cabin was
preferable to a bloodied nose or broken arm.

Using a bit of well-practiced telekinesis, Soria reached
under the overlapping layers of her tailored leather armor and undid the
clasps. It was made so that there was no way for a weapon to reach any buckle
or binding. All those were tucked safely underneath. With the armor loose about
her, she pulled it over her head much the same way she had done with her tunic,
though more carefully, mindful of the metal edges of the neck guard. With the
sweat-dampened inner lining away from her skin, there was a pleasant and
refreshing chill to the air. She removed the leather leggings as well and then
walked barefoot back to the mirror.

She knew she looked much less like Juliana when comparing
more than just faces. Though the same height and general build, the two bodies
had been treated far differently in their young lives. Juliana was thin, pale,
and looked like her arms and legs were brittle as wicker. Soria had the body of
an acrobat, with each muscle carefully carved upon her skin and no bit of
wasted flesh anywhere. She was also darker skinned, not from any quirk of
birth, but from being far less sheltered from sunny days and outdoor labors—in
fact, the only reason she had bothered wearing her armor at all was that, by
the captain’s request, she had tried to stop being a distraction to the crew.

She wore nothing but underbreeches and a cloth wrap that
encircled her chest. The latter was a quintessentially Kheshi garment,
considered suitable for public wearing in the warmer climes. Kheshi women were
far less sheltered from day labor than the comparatively pampered ladies in the
northlands. While the well-to-do might flaunt their curves and act as living
decorations for their menfolk, more active women found them burdensome, and
ascetic warrior women more so than most. Easily thrice her body length, the
cloth bound up her womanly assets and kept them out of her way when fighting.
Ever since her first flowering and the accompanying changes that went with it,
Soria had quietly been grateful to have been sparingly endowed. She saw the
contortions that some of the more buxom sisters went through to keep their
bosoms from interfering with their movements—thicker, wider wraps than hers,
bound so tightly it was painful just to look at.

Reluctantly Soria untied the wrap where the two ends met and
began unwinding it. She felt self-conscious, despite her assurance that she was
alone, as well as silly, vain, and … inadequate. As she surveyed her
reflection, she could not help but compare herself to Kyrus’s woman.
Peasant
teeth, but udders a cow might envy
, she thought bitterly, turning sideways
and pushing her breasts up to try to envision them larger.
Is that what
Brannis really likes? Celia’s are bigger too. I mean, he never mentioned it,
but we were so young back then.

Juliana had done a little here and there to get hers to fill
out a dress a bit better; “silly” and “vain” were concepts that fit well with
her life. Soria had always lived more practically. She had always seen
attracting men as a means to an end—and not the one the men hoped for—but had gotten
by on charm and attitude. She could be as forward as a tax collector, and few
men could defend themselves against such brash advances. But her ends were
information, access to valuable objects … or murder. Brannis’s twin she wanted
to keep, and that meant more than just befuddling that dumb part of the male
mind that hid behind a codpiece for long enough to get what she wanted.

With another sigh, she let her little companions flop the
short distance back to where they belonged.
I will worry about that later. I
can judge Brannis’s reaction before I go messing about, changing how my armor
fits
, she reasoned.
Maybe once we are rich enough to retire like
royalty, I won't mind so much. If his twin is as good a sorcerer as he is
not
,
we ought to be able to conquer ourselves a nice little corner of the world for
our very own.

Retrieving a clean wrap from among her belongings, Soria
recomposed herself for venturing out on deck.

* * * * * * * *

It was evening by the time Soria met Zell and Rakashi at the
bow of the ship. Tanner had been recruited for a Crackle game in the crew
quarters, but the sailors were wary of the huge mercenary and the Takalish who
wore war-braids and a half-spear. The two of them were passing a bottle of
brandy back and forth, taking swigs as if it were cheap wine as they conversed.

“We’ll make the Point tomorrow, maybe midday,” Zell said.
“Captain doesn’t think we’ll have any trouble with the weather.”

“No. I would think not,” Rakashi replied thoughtfully. “The
clouds in front of us look placid.”

Indeed, the reddish-grey wisps in the sky looked far from
threatening in the direction they traveled, south and east. The sun hung low in
the sky to the starboard side of the ship, and a second sun danced beneath it,
reflected in the water of the swelling sea.

“Evening, boys,” Soria called out as she approached,
swaggering across the deck. She was wearing her tunic thrown loosely over her
wrapped chest—a compromise between modesty and a desire to let her sweaty armor
air out before putting it back on in the morning.

“Done teasing the crew, are you?” Zell chided her, knowing
that she cared little whether men eyed her, so long as they kept to just that.

Despite her scant attire, the sailors aboard the
Yorgen’s
Bluff
had initially been wary of her “bodyguards” when she came aboard.
When it became apparent that none of them were either her lover or particularly
watchful of her, they had grown bolder. Rakashi had to take a few aside quietly
and warn them—not of anything he would do, but rather that none of her three
companions would protect them from her should she take offense.

“I like having a cabin of my own, but I need the air,” she
replied, settling in next to them, leaning against the ship’s railing.

“Well, it’s gonna be a cool night if you’re planning on
being out here a while, ’specially with just that flimsy thing to cover you.
Care to knock a swallow off the top, to keep the chill away?” Zell handed her
the bottle.

The label was Takalish, but nothing they had brought aboard
with them. She could barely read any Takalish, but it seemed to claim it was
from Khetlu. Whether that was a distillery or a town, she knew not, but she had
never heard of it. She took a sniff.

“No, not tonight,” she stated, pushing it back into the big
man’s hands. “Stuff’s strong enough, for sure. Few turns at the neck of that
and I’d have no trouble sleeping tonight.”

“Big day tomorrow,” Zell said in a transparent effort to
sound positive.

He knew as well as anyone that she was not eager for
Juliana’s wedding. Because he was captain of the House Archon guards, Juliana
had appointed him as her oath guardian without anyone thinking much of it. For
the past week, leading up to the wedding itself, they had been nearly
inseparable. It was his job to make sure nothing untoward happened to Juliana
before she was married. Like the position of oathkeeper, the job was largely
ceremonial, but in Zellisan’s case, he was chosen so that Juliana could have
someone to complain to about it in two worlds.

“I have no intention of falling asleep tonight,” Soria said.
“She’s on her own this time.”

Soria felt petty and a bit guilty about leaving her twin—her
other self—alone at such a time, but bearing witness was nothing she wanted a
part of. She would have memories of it afterward as if she had been there, so
all she would really miss would be the visceral feeling of being locked up in a
marriage she had not wanted.
Oh, and I will get to miss the wedding night as
well. No great loss there.
Juliana had taken Iridan into her bed a handful
of times, first when drunk, then with a vague intention of whipping him into
some semblance of a man before she married him.

“Long night, then. Want me to wait up with you?” Zell
sounded uncharacteristically sympathetic.

He was not half the grizzled warmonger he presented himself
as. He kept up a good ruse, but they had known each other too long for such a
facade to hold up against real emotion. He was the first to have discovered
Juliana’s gift for seeing into the other world, a common guard in House
Archon’s service who inquired about the strange, troubling dreams that woke his
six-summer-old charge crying in the middle of the night. He had taken the
fragmented story and his own knowledge of the other world and taught the young
Juliana how being twinborn worked. Eventually, when she was old enough to be on
her own, he sought Soria out in person.

“No, I know you are looking forward to the whole loud,
shiny, flowery mess. Go ahead and get to it. Get an early start,” Soria told
him. She came close to telling him to reacquaint himself with Brannis, but she
wanted to keep their quarry’s identity a surprise. For all the rest of them
knew, Kyrus Hinterdale was just another potential recruit, albeit one with
exceptional promise, if he was the sorcerer he was rumored to be.

“Fine by me, then. Just don’t get too down, you hear me?
It’ll work out okay.” Zell gave Soria a perfunctory hug, and lumbered off to
the cabin he shared with Tanner and Rakashi.

“I will keep you company if you like,” Rakashi spoke
quietly, as if hesitant to interrupt her thoughts.

She found him so unlike the other two. When forced to share
accommodations, he was the one she bunked with. He had taken a wanderer’s oath,
which both freed him and bound him. While away from Takalia, he would father no
children, nor would he spill the blood of his own people. By swearing the oath,
he was free to pursue his travels free from the other moral restraints of
Takalish life. He was free to flaunt the laws of other nations—at his own peril
of course—and bring no dishonor on himself. Soria found it a strange custom,
but it was for that reason that she trusted him to tend her wounds and knead
sore muscles loose without fear of him taking advantage.