Spin of Fate, page 13
CHAPTER NINE
A Soldier’s Delusion
Two weeks into the Balancer training, and even Meizan had to admit these uppers knew damn well what they were doing when it came to channeling.
He streamed chitrons to his sole, funneling them to a point. The top of Meizan’s pole had been whittled down until it was fine as the tip of his sword. It should have pierced his foot. But it didn’t, his newfound control allowing him to stand on it for hours on end.
A pebble thwacked the side of his head and threw Meizan off balance. He righted himself, then glared across the lake, where Reimi and Taralei sat firing pebbles with the speed of arrows. Next to him, Aina and Aranel bore an assortment of cuts and bruises.
“Is this ethical?” Aranel groused, deflecting a pebble with a flash of green light.
“It’s well intentioned,” Reimi said. She flicked a pebble at Meizan, who lashed out with his chitrons.
They materialized in a blue shimmer the size of his palm—a chitronic shield, much smaller than he was used to. Normal shields involved compressing air or sand particles into encompassing domes that could reflect all types of attacks. But precision shields restricted their surface area only to points of incoming contact—thereby reducing interaction with Malin’s chitrons, which in turn made the shields more stable.
This would’ve been useful in bleeding Merumarth, Meizan thought, as Taralei sent a pebble slamming into his shin with the force of a sledgehammer.
“I suppose Zenyra has these techniques taught to the Malini in the villages as well,” Aranel said. “That reminds me, exactly how many Balancers are stationed at each village?”
“I’m not sure,” Taralei replied as she launched another round of pebbles. “At least two or three, since every team that comes into Incaraz is sent to a village together.”
“Every team,” Aranel repeated. “Do you mean if we complete our training, I’d be stuck living in some village with these two?” He gestured at Meizan and Aina, who exchanged an exasperated look and sent their next round of pebbles ricocheting in Aranel’s direction.
“Aina can’t channel properly, and Meizan would terrorize the children,” Aranel continued, deflecting all the pebbles in an infuriating show of chitronic prowess. “What even would we be doing? What goes on in these villages? I’d like more information if I’m expected to one day—”
“Aranel, you gnat,” Meizan snapped. “The bleeding mission is moons away. Do you have to start whining about it now?”
“But I—” Aranel paused, his expression shifting to indignance. “I’m not a gnat!”
“Yes, you’re more of a leech,” Aina agreed. “Sucking the fun out of every conversation.”
“Sapping our motivation to train,” Meizan added.
“Draining our souls with every word you say,” Aina said.
Meizan watched with mild amusement as Aranel struggled to mask his outrage. “You ought to thank me,” the upper said flintily, looking from Aina to Meizan, “for having found a way to finally lighten your souls.”
“Ran,” Taralei scolded. “That’s crossing a line.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Meizan said. “Zenyra won’t allow a weakling like him to leave this crater, much less handle a village. He can’t even wield a sword properly.”
He turned his back to Aranel and left him to stew in silence.
Unlike the upper, Meizan didn’t give a damn what happened after their training was complete. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be here. Incaraz was not his home, nor the Balancers his clan. They were nothing more than a convenience. A place to sleep and eat until Kaldrav was no longer a threat or Meizan decided what the hell he wanted to do with the rest of his life, whichever came first.
* * *
The next afternoon during training, Aranel fought like one taken over by the spirit of Azyaka herself. He attacked Meizan with a single-minded intensity, hazel eyes empty of their usual hesitation. His blows came fast and sure, his form unwavering. Meizan’s arms began to ache as Aranel backed him against a tree.
Meizan aimed a roundhouse kick at Aranel’s leg, but the upper jumped up and somersaulted through the air to bring a heel crashing down on Meizan’s head.
Meizan swore as he stumbled forward. Pain ripped across his skull. Something sharp pressed against his pulse, and Aranel glared at him through sweat-drenched locks.
“What the hell happened to you?” Meizan breathed.
“Do not underestimate the Mayani,” Aranel said quietly. “Choosing to not engage in violence does not make us weak.”
Meizan shoved him off, feeling a mixture of loathing and exhilaration. Beneath the shiny hair and silken clothes, the upper was sharp as a nagamor’s beak. Meizan didn’t know what had spurred the change, but this ruthless Aranel was much better than the simpering coward from a day ago.
“Another round,” Meizan demanded, rotating his wrists. It had been a while since he’d encountered a worthy opponent.
“No, thank you.” Aranel sheathed his blade and stalked off.
Meizan watched him go in murderous indignation. He was about to attack him from behind when Taralei placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ve never seen him so fired up.” Taralei sounded amazed. “He probably gave you a concussion.”
“I’ll give him a concussion,” Reimi fumed from beside her. “The one day I decide to bet against him. Wretched Kirnosi.”
“Pure thoughts, Reimi, pure thoughts.” Taralei reached over and pushed up Meizan’s bangs. He flinched at the touch, stepping away. “We need to heal this,” Taralei said, undeterred.
“It’s a damn scratch,” Meizan said. “I’ll break his neck tomorrow.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Taralei said firmly. “Now, I can risk healing this with chitrons or get you some ice. You decide.”
“I don’t need—” Meizan began, but then Hiraval came to his side and pressed something rough against Meizan’s forehead. The throbbing where Aranel had kicked him subsided at once. “What did you do? Did you channel?”
“Gazarou fur,” Hiraval said. He held out his palm to reveal a small bundle of grass tied together with a satin ribbon. “It can heal almost any nature of injury in mere seconds. Keep this. It will come in use.”
“Where the hell did you get it?” Meizan asked, taken aback.
The great grass wolf was a mythical creature said to be descended from the Planetary Beast Sherka. Why would Hiraval offer him a clump of its fur as if it were a piece of rock?
“I brought it from Mayana,” Hiraval said. “It’s the last of my stock, so take care of it.”
“Why—” Meizan’s throat went dry. “Why give it to me?”
“You’re a fellow Balancer. We must look after one another.”
“No.” Meizan backed away from him. “No, we must not.”
“Meizan, listen.” Taralei exchanged a look with Reimi and Hiraval. “Aranel told us what happened with Kanjallen.”
At the mention of Kanjallen, Meizan’s hand dropped instinctively to his sword. His thumb ghosted over the carved nagamor head at its hilt. Zenyra’s efforts to find his clanmates had been unsuccessful, which meant they’d either miraculously escaped despite their various handicaps…or ended in erasure. Meizan wasn’t fool enough to hope for the former.
How long did they suffer? How long did they hold on, unable to move or breathe, before giving up?
If only he’d been able to heal them properly. Meizan clutched the bundle of gazarou fur, trying not to picture how his clanmates’ fates might have played out had he gotten his hands on it a few weeks earlier.
“We can’t imagine what it’s like to lose everyone you care about,” Reimi said. “Just as we can’t imagine how much you suffered growing up in this realm.”
Meizan looked away. When Reimi spoke again, her whispered words shattered through his skull like the screams of a kapizer. “The Balancers can be your new clan,” she said, and Meizan wanted to rip her tongue off.
“I don’t need a new clan,” he bit out. “What I need is—I need you to teach me how to heal. Without chitrons.”
* * *
Meizan returned to his room at sundown, arms loaded with medicinal herbs and head bursting with new information. Fireflower oil to reduce inflammation. A paste made of silverbark to accelerate bone growth. Tigerfruit seeds, swallowed to prevent infection.
So easy. It would have been so bleeding easy to save them if he’d had the right supplies. Supplies that Mayana had in abundance yet did not grow in Malin, where the air itself caused leaves to crumble and bark to rot.
Meizan’s bitter mood continued even as he focused his energy on training and healing, learning ways to survive his realm without relying on its treacherous chitrons. He thought of Kanjallen often, each time with a pang of longing and regret.
But as days rolled by, Meizan found himself thinking of them less. It was hard to dwell on past miseries when he was finally breathing clean air and drinking pure water and eating three full meals a day. The itch in Meizan’s throat disappeared, the last visceral reminder of his clanmates fading away.
Meizan thought of them only during his lookouts, as he kept vigil atop the crater and gazed at the river of hardened lava that twisted across Malin.
“Do you miss your clan?”
Aranel appeared from the thicket and settled cross-legged on the hard dirt. Reimi had lookout duty tonight, so Meizan had no clue what this freak was doing here.
“You have this look on your face,” Aranel continued, unaffected by Meizan’s glare. “The same look you had when Merumarth exploded.”
“Burn in Narakh,” Meizan said, his preferred greeting for Aranel in most situations.
“That’s cruel of you.” Aranel sounded sulky.
Was he still bitter about their earlier spar? Now that Aranel had stopped dithering about, they were almost evenly matched, though Meizan scraped a win two out of three times.
“I was going to offer to teach you,” Aranel went on.
“Teach me what?” Meizan asked, vaguely horrified. “I don’t want to memorize your stupid Dirge of Descension.”
“It’s called the Aria of Ascension! And I meant healing. I hear you’ve been learning from Taralei and the others. I can’t imagine why, given your disturbing enjoyment for all things painful.”
“I don’t enjoy pain!” What kind of masochist did Aranel take him for? “I’m just used to it, unlike you.”
“Well then, you ought to be glad to have me teach you.” Aranel lifted his chin. “I happen to be quite adept at chitronic healing. Far better than my cousin.”
“We’re using plants, not chitrons.”
The upper fell silent. Meizan wondered if he’d imagined the shadow of disappointment on his face. But then Aranel started babbling again about something Meizan didn’t care to understand.
“The shape of the lava reminds me of the Karaeni,” Aranel said. “It’s a river of light that cuts across the sky of Mayana. The chitronic energies in the area are volatile, making it nearly impossible to channel. Even the lotus of Kirnos never strays too close.”
Meizan said nothing, staring at the dreary horizon as Aranel rambled on. He couldn’t tell if Aranel was conversing with him or reminiscing to himself. Either way, Meizan had no interest in hearing about a realm he would never enter.
Meizan was about to interrupt when Aranel addressed him. “What’s Malin like outside this hideout? I’ve only seen Meru-marth and Martharan, but where did the rest of your clan live? And what of your kingdoms, and your—”
“We don’t have kingdoms, you blabbering twit.” Meizan scowled at Aranel’s look of surprise. “Our largest settlements crumbled under war and disease, and those lucky enough to survive were ripped apart by the great earthquake. All that’s left is the fortress of Kaufgar, but that’s controlled by Kaldrav and his bleeding army.”
Aranel didn’t seem to know how to respond, and Meizan hoped he would go away. Instead, Aranel asked, “Who’s Kaldrav? And why is he raising an army?”
“Kaldrav,” Meizan spat, “is a cockroach who would call himself king of Malin. All the other clans are packed with flaming fools who have aligned themselves to his cause. He’s assimilated them into his armies, sucking the realm dry.”
“What is his cause?” Aranel pressed. “Who is he fighting against?”
“Burn me if I know. All the clans—starting with Chiren, damn manglers—began flocking to him years ago. He promised them some great war, though I don’t know who he thinks he’ll be fighting, given he’s trying to unite everyone, which is a flea-brained idea. The clans live on violence. If he deprives them of it long enough, his soldiers will tear each other apart.”
“Is that what you’re waiting for, the day Kaldrav’s army implodes?” Aranel asked shrewdly. Meizan refused to answer, but Aranel persisted like the nuisance he was. “Are the clans truly loyal to him? I’ve only ever met two Malini, but you and Aina both seem to hate him with a passion.”
“Aina’s a Malini?” Meizan exclaimed.
“Not anymore, given she ascended over a year ago.” Aranel looked at him, alarmed. “Don’t tell me you thought she was born-and-bred Mayani?”
Meizan hadn’t given it any thought at all. Aina acted different from Aranel, who made Meizan feel like he’d swallowed a slug each time they spoke. She didn’t grind his nerves with overbearing niceties like the rest of the Balancers, but to think she was lower-born!
How the burning hell had she ascended?
Something shifted on the horizon and interrupted Meizan’s deliberation, a flicker of movement amidst the expanse of hardened lava.
He peered into the gloom and tensed as a dozen of Kaldrav’s soldiers came into view. They trudged toward Incaraz, their black armor blending into the rock. As they drew near, Meizan could make out voices filtering across the stillness.
“…hate this pissing road,” one of the soldiers was saying. “Should’ve taken a damn boat.”
“And become saberfin food?” his companion replied. “Did you see what they did to the last ship that tried sailing Mir Tamasa?”
“Still better than what happened to those sods camped in Martharan a couple weeks back.”
A round of harsh laughter followed, then the first soldier asked, “What d’you think happened to that Balancer hideout? Isn’t it around here somewhere?”
Aranel let out a soft gasp, and Meizan grasped the hilt of his sword.
“Buried in lava’s my guess,” came a guttural reply. “Though it’s worth raiding if it’s intact. I hear they’ve got clean water. And food, actual bleeding food.”
“I’ll alert Zenyra and the others,” Aranel whispered, but Meizan shook his head.
“They can’t see us behind the shield. Even if they attack, two is enough to take them out.”
The soldiers shuffled closer, unaware they were being watched. “If I starve a day longer, my stomach’s going to crawl out of my belly,” one of them grunted. “Kaldrav’s a stingy maggot, can’t even feed his own damn troops properly.”
“Where’s the bleeding meat I was promised?” another added.
“Forget meat, where’s our stinking war? I’m sick of lying low. Pissing commanders, acting as if waiting around will make the torana explode.”
Aranel stiffened beside him. Meizan leaned forward, streaming chitrons to his ears to enhance his hearing.
“Screw it,” a soldier said. “I say we raid the hideout today and butcher ourselves some uppers. I’ll bet their meat tastes good. Plump and juicy, not hard and dry like a starved-out Malini.”
Aranel looked ready to vomit. Meizan gripped his wrist to stop him from making any sudden movements. One of the soldiers, probably their leader, slammed an elbow into the head of the man who had just spoken.
“One more word about raiding anything and your skull will break faster than Toranic Law,” the leader rasped. “Then I’ll fill your head with ice from Agakor before stitching you back up and dumping your body in the frostlands. How does that sound, you little maggot?”
The soldier swore at his leader’s threat but said nothing more. The group trundled past the shield but made no move to attack. Meizan watched them continue northward and fade into the distance, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“What was that about?” Aranel sounded strained. “About breaking Toranic Law and exploding the torana? They don’t truly think they can do that, do they?”
“They’re soldiers,” Meizan said. “They talk shit. It’s all they have to do.”
“But it’s not possible to break Toranic Law. It’s unyielding and absolute.”
“I know it’s bleeding absolute. You think those soldiers are the first idiots to think of blowing up the torana? A bunch of kids in Kanjallen tried it too, years ago, blasting them with explosives and chitronic attacks.”
“And?”
“And nothing. Not a scratch, though they triggered a small landslide. Your precious torana won’t break even if Kaldrav slams against them with the might of his entire army.”
Aranel didn’t look especially reassured, but Meizan couldn’t be bothered by a soldier’s delusion about breaking Toranic Law. It did bother him that they’d known the location of the hideout. They’d known and considered attacking, yet walked away.
From Meizan’s experience, Kaldrav’s soldiers were an impulsive lot who reveled in fighting whatever appeared before them. That their leader had stopped them was both unusual and unsettling.
Was Kaldrav preparing some sort of coordinated attack on the Balancer villages and Incaraz? Meizan would have to get the hell out of here if that happened. Strong as the Balancers were with their precision channeling, Kaldrav’s army numbered hundreds of thousands. If even a small fraction attacked, the Balancers would be crushed like ants.
