Connection

Horick had never been much a fan of pub songs, and this one was worse than most. The singer was drunk, the lyrics were terrible, and the music uninspired. The audience was all three. Tonight, however, his thoughts were loud enough to drown out the rowdy bard, seated atop a wobbly stool and strumming at the strings of a small kalili. He missed the instrument entirely several times, causing the less intoxicated patrons to laugh raucously.

Horick, though, wasn’t paying attention to them. He just stared at his mug of cider. Alcohol tasted terrible and didn’t make him drunk enough to matter.

That infernal idiot, he thought. Couldn’t make do with ruining his own life. Had to bring the girl into it as well. And now, it seemed, he was intent on bringing the entire world down with him. It may have been Damnation already, but somehow Horick’s brother was determined to make it worse.

He continued to wait, growing impatient. If he was wrong again, he was going to give up and go home. Maybe seek aid from someone more qualified. Or at least smarter. That was the last thing he wanted to do, which was saying something considering where he was.

The door to the pub opened quietly, admitting a small figure wearing a long blue cloak. They wore the hood up, eyes and face shadowed. It might have looked intimidating, had the figure not been standing with their hands wrapped around themselves as if in fear.

Horick forced himself to remain seated. That was the one. He was sure of it. Mostly. He’d thought he was sure last time, too. This was Hell indeed, sucking the power out of him little by little, even without the rending. No, that wasn’t right. It was more like…like he couldn’t quite access his power. Or that he himself was too weak to use it.

Mortality.

He waited for the small figure to find a seat. Female, he believed, although the cloak was obscuring. He waited until she sat with a tiny cup of something blue. Then he approached, sliding into the seat across from her.

She grew tense, hands going to the edge of the table as if preparing to shove herself away and run.

“I don’t have much time,” Horick said softly. The language still felt heavy on his tongue. “So I’ll get straight to the point. Are you Beali?”

The girl hesitated, her eyes widening beneath the hood of her cloak. It was answer enough.

“I can’t explain why,” he said, leaning forward, “but I need you to take me to your home city. Take me to the woman who was with you before.”

She licked her lips. “How-how do you know about-”

“I promise I am not your enemy,” he said. It was the truth. He had no enemies here. Even his brother was nothing more than an idiot, too foolish to be a threat. To Horick, at least.

“Why should I trust you?” she asked.

Horick reached out and touched her hand, Connecting briefly. Her eyes glazed over and she slumped in her seat. After a few moments, she nodded slowly.

“Okay,” she muttered. He didn’t know why he had such strange effects on the people here. His Connection seemed to almost wipe them clean, rewriting their brains, if he wasn’t careful.

“Can we go now?” he asked.

She nodded very slowly. “Yeah. Sure.”

***

Jistan snapped awake, his forehead beaded in sweat. He threw off his heavy covers, only to be hit by the chill air which quickly cooled the thin layer of sweat across his body.

Ignoring the cold, he hurriedly scrambled from bed and rushed to the other side of the room. On another bed, Karrin lay, sleeping peacefully. He let out a long breath. Just another nightmare. His sister was still fine.

They were all hiding out in two side by side abandoned houses right outside the courtyard. It had been two days since their failed rescue attempt, and they hadn’t made any progress. They hadn’t been able to find any other Mind Scythe, Fiedons, or even regular soldiers. Unless you counted the bodies. There were plenty of those, most of them everyday soldiers. There were some regular citizens though, even women and children. It made Jistan sick.

The city was a strange mixture of quiet and chaos. The remaining citizens lived in furtive panic, creeping rather than walking and jumping at every shadow. Many of the people had fled during the initial attack. Many of those had been cut down, but a few escaped. Where would they go, though? Ranteel was supposed to be the heart of Manicoti power. When crisis hit, the great city was supposed to rally forces to fix everything. But now, the city was ravaged and the Highness somehow held prisoner. After much prying, Joree finally got the fully story out of Aniah. A stranger, perhaps a Kriton, had put some sort of stone or something on the Highness, and it had somehow blocked her from using Will. The very thought that such a weapon could exist chilled Jistan. How many did the enemy have? Was it enough to have eliminated the Mind Scythe entirely? What about…

No, Jistan thought firmly. I can’t think that way. He has to be alive. My father is the strongest man I know. He found a way out of this. I know it.

Footsteps outside made Jistan immediately grow tense. He reached for his sword-which he had sworn now to keep with him every waking moment and set beside his bed while he slept-and stood to face the door. A knock came, and he relaxed. An attacker wouldn’t knock.

Still, he pulled the door open with great caution, clutching his unsheathed sword with taut muscles.

It was Narissa. She looked pale and haggard, but still managed to give him a motherly smile. It reminded him of his own mother, and he felt a pang of loss in his heart. What was she doing now? Was she safe? Did she have any inkling of the danger her family was in? What about Royan and Enak?

“I brought some more fresh water,” Narissa said. “And some bread that we managed to scrounge up.” Meaning, bread that they had stolen from an abandoned home or bakery.

“Thank you,” Jistan said, taking the proffered items.

“Has she woken up yet?” she asked, voice softening.

He shook his head. “Sometimes she acts like she’s about to, but then she just drifts off again.”

“That’s probably a good sign,” she said. “If she wasn’t moving or making any sounds, then it would likely indicate more permanent damage. Just give her some time.”

Jistan nodded, unable to speak past the lump forming in his throat. He hoped she was right.

“The others are finishing eating,” she continued. “They will be here soon. We figured we all need to have a talk.”

Jistan nodded again, feeling…empty. Drained. Over the past two days, he had been confused, terrified, exhausted, angry, and frantic. Now, he felt like all those emotions had been wrung out of him, leaving his insides hollow.

Narissa seemed to read something on his face, because she suddenly stepped forward and embraced him. She was smaller than his mother, but her hug was still warm and soft. He found himself pressing his head onto her shoulder and weeping silently. She held him for a few long moments. He was the one to break the embrace, stepping away and swiping at the traitorous tears on his face.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

A crunching sound made him jump nearly to the ceiling. But it was just Joree and Eshi. Eshi clung to the large youth’s hand, looking at everything with eyes peeled wide as if trying to absorb it all at once. She seemed both terrified and exultant. Joree, for his part, looked like he hadn’t slept all night. His golden hair stood up off his head at sharp angles and dark circles framed his green eyes. He wore the same outfit as the day before, and it looked rumpled and dirty. He still limped faintly, which added to his disorderly appearance.

“The other girls are on their way,” Joree said, stifling a yawn. “Lanae wanted more food. Aniah didn’t want to leave her alone in the room.” He rolled his eyes. “Hopefully they both make it here in one piece.”

A soft moaning from behind him made Jistan start and spin. His sister was stirring again, face scrunched in an expression of consternation. He ignored the others and rushed to her side, heart clenched in desperate hope and fearful anxiety.

Her eyes opened. He sucked in a sharp breath. She blinked several times, eyes moving lazily as if she were struggling to focus. Finally, her gaze rested on his face.

“What happened?” she asked, voice hoarse and weak. Jistan found he had no words. He let out a laugh, then threw his arms around her in a fierce hug. She weakly hugged him back, making a soft, surprised grunting sound.

Well he finally released her, she gave him a bemused expression. He smiled. “I’m just really glad you’re not dead.”

She tried to prop herself up on her elbows, grimacing as she did so. “Jistan, the last thing I remember is…Flames, I don’t even know. We got back from Kritose, there was some drama with the Delani…” Her eyes widened abruptly and she tried to sit up quickly. She didn’t quite manage it and fell back onto the bed with a thump.

“Dad,” she gasped. “We couldn’t find Dad. I think? Did we find him?” She looked to Jistan, searching his face desperately.

Jistan forced himself to meet her gaze. “No,” he said softly. “We didn’t find him. We were attacked. You were injured.”

“What?” she whispered. “But…how? Who?”

“It gets worse.”

The siblings looked to the doorway to find Aniah there, looking her usual condescending, irritable self.

“Worse?” Karrin asked, sitting up more slowly this time.

Jistan sighed. “The whole city was attacked. People are either hiding, running, or…or dead. And the Highness is missing.”

Karrin simply gaped at him.

“And we can’t find a single Mind Scythe or Fiedon,” Aniah added, almost petulantly, as if offended that the world had failed to conform to her preferences.

“Arkadia’s Flames,” Karrin breathed. “How long ago?”

“About a day and a half,” Jistan replied.

She nodded. “Well, at least I haven’t been out for months and we are already refugees living out in the mountains.”

“Well I’m glad to see this is a joke to you,” Aniah snapped.

“That’s a first,” Joree said, smiling cheerily.

Aniah eyed him. “What? Someone making a joke of this situation?”

Joree snorted. “No. You being glad.”

Aniah’s face went red. Jistan thought that flames might start coming out her ears or something. He couldn’t help himself. He laughed out loud. Perhaps it was the tension, or the sheer ridiculousness of their situation, but he broke into a fit of laughter that was soon joined by Karrin. Even Narissa hid a smirk behind a hand.

Aniah folded her arms. “Very nice. Can the children please leave now so that the adults can discuss plans?”

Joree immediately started to walk for the door.

“What in Arkadia’s Halls do you think you’re doing?” Aniah asked, blocking his path out.

“The child is leaving so the adults can discuss,” he said wryly, cocking an eyebrow at her. She glared.

“Sit down, idiot.”

He looked around dubiously. “Where? I don’t see any kiddie seats.”

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt, glaring intently up at his face. She was struggling to look intimidating, seeing as she was much shorter than him.

“Listen, citizen,” she hissed. “If I had any other option, if I knew of anyone else who could help, I would be talking to them. But you are all I’ve got. So you’re going to help me, and we’re going to save this Arkadia-forsaken country before it all goes up in flames. Do you hear me?”

For once, Joree didn’t respond with a wisecrack. He met her gaze solemnly. “Understood,” he said simply. Then he smiled slightly. “I apologize. I’m not trying to make light of your distress, Aniah. You just make it very easy to-”

Narissa cleared her throat loudly.

“Right,” Joree said. “Serious. We’re being serious now.”

“Good,” Aniah said, voice losing all traces of intensity and once again becoming that of a spoiled child. “We need to immediately make plans to rescue my mother.”

“We’re going to need help,” Joree said, grimacing. “I’m not keen on facing an army of Delani and Kritose’s elite again.”

“We need to find the Mind Scythe,” Karrin put in, carefully lowering her feet to the side of the bed so she could face everyone while she sat. “I know of several outposts where they are rotated through periodically. Also, there are quite a few left protecting the border.”

“That will take too long to reach them!” Aniah protested.

“Do you have a better plan?” Narissa asked softly. From anyone else, the question would’ve sounded like a challenge. From Joree’s small mother, it sounded completely genuine.

Aniah ground her teeth together. “No,” she finally muttered.

“Good,” Karrin said. “I can take a couple people with me to gather Mind Scythe from the outposts as well as warn the citizens on the way. Jistan will escort the other group to the frontline and gather what support he can.”

Jistan frowned. “Karrin, you’ve been awake for all of five minutes,” he said flatly. She smiled lopsidedly.

“I know. I must be getting old to be taking so long to recover.”

***

Dennison slammed his fist against the wall in frustration. Then he let out a string of Kriton curses. He stopped mid-rant, glancing down at his bleeding knuckles. Bleeding. He’d made himself bleed.

“You speak like them now.”

Dennison turned sharply towards the sudden intruder. Vris stood in the doorway, silent and unmoving. How long had he been there?

“I speak like myself,” Dennison snapped, then cringed. He was starting to react like them, so touchy and irritable at the slightest provocation.

“The heir is near. I saw.”

Dennison felt his whole body stiffen. “Where? When?” he asked urgently.

“A day has passed. She was near.”

Dennison almost growled. “And you didn’t catch her? Barring that, you didn’t tell me?”

Vris did not reply. He didn’t even look chagrined. Why had Dennison agreed to let the insufferable creature come along? He wasn’t really worth the power he brought. Usually. Maybe.

“How did she escape?” he asked tightly.

“I am not under you,” Vris said simply. Then he turned and walked away. Dennison almost punched the wall again, but the stinging in his hands was enough of a deterrent.

The fool Highness still would not talk, even after the torture and executions and threats. She didn’t even seem to be bending. Despite her Will being wiped out, she was no weaker.

“You will give me what I want,” Dennison whispered. He would pry the truth out. If she cooperated soon, he would burn Manicot quickly. If he had to work much longer, though, he would kill this country slowly. He would slice it in a thousand different places and let it bleed out.