Spin of Fate, page 16
“You could try it when you—” Aranel broke off, and another silence befell them. He had no idea whether Meizan would ever be able to ascend, or if he even wanted to.
Meizan shifted against the stone wall and stretched toned arms behind him. “Why are you really here, Aranel?”
“What do you mean?” asked Aranel, quickly averting his gaze.
“We both know whatever you told Aina about her inspiring you is a lie. You pretended to be a Balancer when I took you hostage to save your own ass. But why did you join? What were you even doing in Malin?”
“I always intended to join! The Balancers are famous in Mayana, and I genuinely believe in Zenyra’s mission of helping your realm.”
“Do you?” Meizan’s eyes cut through the steam, and the springs felt uncomfortably hot. “Aina may be a fool, but I’m not. I saw you sneaking around last night when you were supposed to be on lookout.”
The blood drained from Aranel’s face as he scrambled for words. “I wasn’t—I don’t—”
“Save the lies,” said Meizan. “I know your loyalties aren’t with the Balancers. At first, I wondered if you were secretly aligned with Kaldrav.”
“What?” yelped Aranel, stung by the accusation. “I’m not. I would never.”
“I know.” Meizan tilted his head, sending damp bangs falling over his eyes. “You’re too terrified for your own flaming soul to ally with that cockroach. As long as it’s not him, I don’t care. I won’t even tell Zenyra.”
“You won’t?” asked Aranel, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Meizan had figured him out. “Why not?”
“We all have our loyalties. Some run deeper than others.” Meizan stood abruptly, spring water sluicing down his chest. Aranel followed suit and tensed for a fight as Meizan drew near.
“Do what you want outside Incaraz, Aranel.” A dangerous edge crept into Meizan’s voice. “But right now this crater is the only place in Malin where I’m free of Kaldrav and his soldiers.” Meizan slammed a hand on the wall behind them. His glare pierced straight into Aranel’s soul.
Aranel shrank back against the wet rock, lips moving wordlessly.
“If you do anything to screw that up,” continued Meizan, barely audible above the thudding of Aranel’s heart, “I will destroy you.”
“I won’t,” said Aranel after a long moment. He angled his head to retreat behind a curtain of hair. “It’s as you say, Meizan. I won’t do anything that might risk hurting someone. Anything that might…taint my soul.” The words left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.
“Good.” Meizan stepped back. “At least your debilitating fear of Toranic Law has some use.”
The statement felt like a punch to his gut. Aina’s accusation from five weeks ago rang in Aranel’s mind: You don’t respect Toranic Law. You fear it. You live your life in fear of how it will judge your soul and let that fear control your every action.
Was he truly as selfish as Meizan and Aina saw him?
Aranel released a breath as Meizan turned and stalked out of the cavern. “They’re wrong,” he whispered to himself. His fingers curled against the rock. “They don’t know the difference between respect and fear.”
Besides, Aranel had a will of his own. Sometimes, he did things simply because he wanted to, such as when…
Aranel froze as he tried to recall a time when his actions hadn’t been influenced by a desire to lighten his soul. He’d been more carefree in his childhood, but ever since their parents had ascended, ever since Aranel had noticed how Samarel’s keiza shone brighter than his own…
Aranel stared down at his fingers, the forward circles they were unconsciously drawing over the cavern wall. He’d acquired the habit at thirteen, after a Kirnosi priest mentioned that his brother might be close to ascension.
“They’re wrong,” repeated Aranel, stilling his fingers.
He had a will of his own, even if Meizan and Aina couldn’t see it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A Forbidden Technique
If Meizan squinted hard enough, he could pretend he was out hunting for Kanjallen again. The isolation surrounding Incaraz was not so different from the arid gray slopes of Raitani. Flatter, maybe, but just as ugly. Though none of its game shone as brightly as Aranel’s stupid head. It would have been a lot easier to track them if they had.
Spinning a throwing star on the tip of his index finger, Meizan watched Aranel as he skulked along the rim of the crater. Two weeks had passed since their encounter in the hot springs, and the upper had been infuriatingly polite to Meizan throughout, refusing to rise to his taunts and smiling through all the teasing. It convinced Meizan more than ever that the shiny-haired freak was up to something.
Aranel swiped his forehead, and his form gave a ripple before disappearing.
Burn him! Meizan cursed. The throwing star wobbled, cutting his fingertip.
Meizan shoved it into his holster, then sucked on the wound. Aranel’s concealment was bleeding flawless. Streaming chitrons to his ears, Meizan strained in the dark and tried to make out the telling footfalls. But Aranel moved silent as a shadow. Meizan had no way of tracking him.
If he’s meeting someone, where would he go? Meizan stared into the darkness until a glint of gold caught his eye. Is that a torana?
Meizan crept down the slopes of Incaraz. The torana to Paramos twinkled against the gloom. As Meizan neared it, he spied someone behind the pillars: a long-haired man clad in white robes marked with four overlapping circles. He looked like an older, stuffier Aranel.
Is that his brother?
Meizan’s suspicions were confirmed when Aranel removed his concealment and appeared in front of the torana. “Sam!” Aranel yelped. “What the—Why are you here? And wearing those robes?”
“I thought you’d be happier to see me,” his brother said. “The robes are, well, a recent appointment.”
A long pause followed. Then Aranel said, “I suppose I ought to congratulate you, Lord Samarel. You’re the youngest Preserver in what, decades? Centuries?”
Preserver? Meizan perked. Is this about that upper organization Aina keeps griping about?
“Forget about me, Ran,” Samarel said. “I found your correspondence with Lord Seirem.” He tossed a white pebble through the torana. “And decided to meet you in his stead.”
Aranel’s shoulders stiffened, and his brother continued. “I thought it odd when the last three times I visited Kirnos you were nowhere to be found.”
“You…actually visited?”
“Of course I did,” Samarel said. “I promised, remember?” Aranel was silent, a rare feat for him. Meizan inched closer under his own concealment, careful to muffle his breathing.
“I assumed you were traveling the realm,” Samarel continued. “It wasn’t until I overheard Lord Seirem speaking to another Preserver about a covert mission to Malin that I grew suspicious.”
Aha! Meizan straightened. Aranel, that slippery little snail was here on a mission. Under orders from some Preserver, by the sound of it.
“I trailed Lord Seirem as he monitored the torana and found your message before he did,” Samarel said. “I recognized your handwriting at once.”
“Well done,” Aranel said, his tone acerbic. “I imagine you’re here now to offer your help? Take over my mission?”
His brother drew back. “Take over? Aranel, I’m here to tell you to cease this foolishness and return to Mayana.”
There was a long pause. Then: “No.” Aranel sounded petulant. “I won’t.”
“Ran…” His brother sighed. “Please listen to me. I don’t know the details about this mission of yours, although I can guess it involves the Balancers. Lord Seirem was, dare I say it, irresponsible to approach you. You are too young to be involved in matters of the Preservation.”
“Don’t patronize me! Just because Lord Seirem chose not to tell you about it.”
“It’s not just me. Even His Supremacy Lord Kyrian has not authorized this mission.”
“How do you know that?”
“Trust me on this, Ran,” Samarel said earnestly. “Lord Seirem is using you for his own benefit. There are politics within the Preservation that you are unaware of, and—”
Aranel cut him off. “Have you not considered that it’s you who’s unaware? I suppose it’s difficult for you to accept. The Preservation entrusting me over you. Choosing me over you.”
“That’s not what this is about.” His brother sounded stung.
“Yes, it is!” Aranel stormed. “You’re used to being the best. Fastest cloudsurfer, strongest channeler, youngest Preserver. But this time, it’s not about you. Lord Seirem specifically picked me for this mission, and if he’s not told you about it, perhaps he thinks you don’t deserve to know.”
Aranel blustered on, and Meizan could only listen, amused by his pettiness. “I’m not a fool. I know the Preservation have factions and you’re clearly not as high-ranked as Lord Seirem. For one thing, your sleeves are unlined.”
Samarel raised an arm to display the pure white sleeve of his robes. “You mean this?” he asked, shocked. “Ran, did Lord Seirem tell you what the silver lining represents? Because it’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?”
Samarel hesitated. “It’s classified.”
Meizan didn’t know why they were so fixated on bleeding sleeves, but Aranel let out a harsh laugh. “Classified, is it?” he asked, injecting a surprising amount of venom into his voice. “Well, brother, my mission is classified too! So you can try ratting me out to Lord Kyrian if you’d like.”
“I would never,” Samarel said at once. “I don’t want to get you into trouble, Ran. I’m only worried about your well-being. Your time in Malin has clouded your judgment.”
“My time in Malin is nothing you could ever understand, given how desperate you were to run away from even Mayana!”
Damn, Meizan thought. He really does have a stick up his ass.
“That’s not fair,” Samarel said. “Ran, you know that’s not fair, I—” He made to step out of the torana, then stopped. “Forget it. It’s your life. I’ve no right to intervene.”
Even Meizan could sense the hurt in his voice, but Aranel seemed unaffected. “So you’ll leave me alone, then? And stop meddling in my communications with Lord Seirem?”
“I hope you succeed,” Samarel said. “Truly, I do. May your soul spin straight and swift, Aranel.”
He turned around and disappeared. Aranel stood there, frozen. When he made no move to leave, Meizan returned to Incaraz, mind bursting with questions about what he’d just witnessed.
He found Aina, Taralei, and Reimi seated under the banyan tree. A pack of cards lay spread before them.
“Meizan!” Taralei greeted as she shuffled the cards. “Come, join us. Have you ever played Spin of Our Souls?”
Meizan shook his head. Judging by the name, it sounded ridiculous.
“I want to know about the Preservation,” he said, and Aina made a disgusted noise. “Who they are, and what they do.”
“The Preservation are a bunch of decrepit fish-brains,” Aina supplied, “who like to meddle in things that don’t concern them.”
“They’re the ruling council of the upper realms,” Taralei said, lips twitching. “The Preservation are based in Paramos but advise the Mayani on certain matters of governance. They tend to be rather conservative when it comes to matters of the lower realms.”
“Meaning they prefer not to get involved at all,” Reimi added. “They’ve outlawed the Balancers, so Zenyra’s not much of a fan.”
“Oh, but you know who is?” Taralei leaned forward, eyes glinting. “When Ran was six, he made himself a white cloak out of a pillowcase and drew four little circles on it.”
“Typical.” Aina smacked her forehead.
“He’d wear it everywhere,” Taralei continued, “acting like a snotty little Preserver in training, till Sam begged him to stop.”
“Did he now?” Meizan’s eyes narrowed.
Taralei’s words confirmed everything he’d just witnessed. Aranel, that duplicitous snake, was spying on the Balancers for the Preservation. It explained why he’d been in Martharan that day, and why he constantly pestered everyone for information about Zenyra and the Balancer villages.
For a brief moment, Meizan debated reporting him. If this were Kanjallen, he would’ve done it in a heartbeat. But Zenyra wasn’t Kanna, and Meizan owed the Balancers no loyalty.
Besides, a soft-souled bunch of Paramosi posed no threat to his future. Whatever business Aranel had with them was not Meizan’s damn problem.
“Why the sudden interest?” Taralei asked, offering Meizan a set of four cards.
Meizan ignored her question and studied the cards. Each was marked with a number of spirals, some facing forward and others backward. “Don’t tell me this is what I think it is…”
“It’s worse,” Aina said. “Spin of Our Souls is the most didactic game ever invented. The entire goal is to lighten your deck so you can ascend.”
“Azyaka’s burning beak.” Meizan tossed his cards down. “You uppers aren’t subtle at all. I bet Aranel loves this shit.”
“He has a special edition,” Taralei said with a sheepish smile, “with verses from the Aria of Ascension written all over it.”
Aina snorted at that. Meizan turned to her and lowered his voice. “Speaking of ascension, I wanted to ask you something.”
Aina quirked an eyebrow and followed him as he set off across the lake. “You’re awfully curious today.”
Meizan wheeled around to face her. “Aranel told me a few weeks ago that you were born to Malin. How did you ascend? I didn’t think it was possible.”
“Ah.” Aina touched her forehead. Her keiza glowed turquoise, brighter than any lower-born Meizan had ever seen. “I don’t know myself. One moment my mother and I were being attacked by a rabid nagamor. The next, my foot had slipped through the torana.”
“Slipped through.” Meizan shoved his hands into his pockets. “Did you see the white flash? Like a flash of lightning just before you ascend?”
“I think I did,” Aina said, scrunching her eyes. “But it was less of a flash and more like I was in a sea of white, and—” She stopped abruptly and looked down.
“You don’t have to talk about it.” Meizan had plenty of memories he preferred not to dig up. He kept them locked away in the darkest corners of his mind.
“What clan were you in?” he asked instead, a hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. Much as he tolerated Aina, if he found out she was from Chiren, he’d be honor bound to fight her.
“None.” Aina eyed his sword warily. “My mother and I were always on our own. She never spoke about a clan. All I know is she ran away from her village not long after I was born. My father used to go into drunken rages where he’d…well, you know…and she was scared that…”
Aina trailed off, and Meizan retracted his hand from the hilt. He’d met his fair share of people like Aina’s father. “Good you escaped,” he said. “What’s Mayana like?”
All he’d heard was the sugary nonsense that spouted from Aranel’s mouth. For the first time, Meizan found himself curious as to what lay beyond those silver torana.
“It’s mostly as Aranel describes it,” Aina said. “But underneath all the beauty, it’s rotting with abundance bestowed upon it by that bleeding law.”
“Toranic Law, you mean,” Meizan said. “You really hate it.”
“As should you,” Aina replied. At his blank expression, hers grew heated. “It’s a twisted system! One that places undue suffering on one realm for the safety and prosperity of another.” Meizan shrugged, and Aina grabbed his wrists. “It’s wronged you, Meizan, worse than it wronged me! How don’t you resent it?”
“It’s been a while since you last lived in Malin, Aina.” Meizan tugged his wrists free. “Outside the walls of this hideout, Kaldrav’s army is growing. His soldiers constantly raid the villages and steal what little food they have. The nagamor have multiplied, and even the seas are infested with sharks.”
“Yes, but—”
“I was trying to survive all that. I was too busy fighting actual enemies to waste my energy hating on a flaming system. A force of nature that can’t be changed no matter what we throw at it.”
“But you’re not even angry,” Aina said in a small voice. “How? How aren’t you even the slightest bit angry at Toranic Law? I know I am, for everything it put me through.”
“You’re wasting your anger, Aina. Toranic Law is our reality. All we can do is try to live the best we can within its constraints.”
* * *
Aranel arrived late to training the next morning, eyes swollen and rimmed with red. He forwent his usual greeting—giving Aina unsolicited pointers, being a general annoyance to Meizan—and sat cross-legged on the ground.
“Is something wrong?” Aina approached him, looking rather nervous. “You don’t look well.”
“Missing dear Mayana?” Meizan couldn’t help but add, “Missing your precious brother?”
Aranel leaped up in a flash, sword drawn and pointed at Meizan’s throat. “One day,” he fumed. “You could go one blessed day without being a complete prick.”
“Why would I do that?” Meizan backstepped and drew his own blade. “You’re more fun when you’re riled up.”
“Oh, leave him alone,” Aina said. “Can’t you see he’s upset?”
Aranel and Meizan froze, staring at her. She ducked her head and fidgeted with the stray fibers of her tunic. “I—I meant. It would be nice not to fight. Once in a while.”
What’s gotten into her? Along with Taralei, Meizan could usually count on Aina when it came to goading Aranel.
“Have you ever cared for someone,” Aranel asked suddenly, sheathing his sword, “but also hated them at the same time?”
