Spin of Fate, page 8
“By fighting.” The lower kneed him again. “Try it next time you’re attacked, instead of yammering about theory.”
The minutes dragged by as they trudged through the forest, and his captor seemed in no mood to continue conversing.
“May I know your name?” asked Aranel out of a desire to break the silence. He added, undeterred by the lower’s flat stare, “Mine’s Aranel, and I’m originally from Kirnos.”
The lower said nothing, and Aranel tried again. “What brings you to this forest? It’s rather…barren, wouldn’t you agree?”
The lower’s face twisted into a scowl. “I’m looking for my clan chief. Have you seen anyone wearing a vest like mine?”
“Sorry, I haven’t.” Aranel ran his eyes over the boy’s tattered leather vest. It was marked with two lines of peeling blue paint that echoed the pattern on his cheeks. “What clan is this?”
“Kanjallen. The last free clan in the realm.”
Kanjallen. Of course. Aranel had come across the name in the ancient scriptures. It meant “eternal tears.” A morbid nomenclature, although it explained that unsightly face paint.
“It would be nice to know your name as well,” he said, and the lower shot him a murderous glare. Aranel returned it with another smile, pleasant as he could manage.
“Meizan,” said the lower at last. It took a moment for the meaning to sink in.
Unfortunate destiny, thought Aranel. Fitting, I suppose. Meizan of Kanjallen. What a morbid name indeed.
“So, um, Meizan,” said Aranel, still not quite used to how the name rolled off his tongue. “If you didn’t truly mean to save me, why did you stop that monkey from harming me earlier? You could’ve let it—”
“Put you to sleep?” Meizan yanked on the binds, forcing Aranel to walk faster. “Little use you’d be then.” His dark eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what kapizer venom does. Are you a new recruit?”
“I—I’ve not been here very long.”
Aranel hadn’t even known those monkeys, those kapizer, were venomous. It was a miracle he’d gotten away unscathed. And it would be an even greater miracle if he survived Meizan’s wrath once they made it out of the forest and it became evident that Aranel hadn’t the faintest clue where the Balancer hideout was.
Because even if Meizan looked all right, his soul spun backward. He would hurt Aranel like he’d hurt that kapizer. But I’d deserve it, thought Aranel, gut clenching. Even if by mistake, he had harmed two living beings. Possibly killed them.
Aranel wanted nothing more than to wrench himself free of his binds, flee this accursed forest, and return to Kirnos for a steaming bath. But he couldn’t risk calling upon his chitrons again.
And as his eyes traced over his captor’s muscled form, Aranel had an inkling he wouldn’t fare well if it came to a physical fight. They were similarly built, Meizan perhaps half an inch taller. But a curved sword hung from his hip and several knives were strapped to his calves, while Aranel carried nothing to defend himself with.
Surely he wouldn’t think to use those knives on me, Aranel reassured himself. They’re likely for chopping firewood. And I suppose he cloudsurfs on that sword.
His optimism faded as the hours dragged by.
Aranel hated this realm. It was a strong emotion, hatred, one he had seldom experienced in Mayana. But Malin was insufferable and Meizan no better.
Aranel swallowed his spit in hopes it would soothe his parched throat. It felt as if someone had run sandpaper along the length, and the spit didn’t help in the slightest. His shoulders throbbed from the unnatural position Meizan had forced them into.
“Can we—take a break—” Aranel wheezed. He ignored Meizan’s hostile glare, which seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face. It had been unnerving at first, but after five hours of putting up with him, Aranel was growing immune. “I need water. I need—”
“What you need,” said Meizan, “is to stop your damn whining. If this is too much, you should’ve crawled back to your realm when you had the chance.”
I’m happy to crawl back now, thought Aranel. But the Preservation had entrusted him with the future of the universe. If he wanted to ascend like his brother, he had to endure. So Aranel bit back his complaints and followed Meizan without another word.
There wasn’t much of a sunset in Malin. No vibrant splash of gold and scarlet across the sky, only a gradual darkening from gray to black. Aranel nearly cried out with relief when Meizan decided to stop for the night. He was beginning to think lowers required no sleep.
“I’m not going to run away,” grumbled Aranel, as Meizan tied him to a tree. The Malini ignored him, as he did about half the time Aranel spoke, and settled against the tree trunk opposite.
Meizan swiped his forehead, hands glowing with mottled blue energy. His chitrons flowed forth in thin lines that spread across the trees like giant spiderwebs.
“Are those a precaution against the kapizer?” asked Aranel.
“Them, and worse.”
Once Meizan completed the webs, he flicked a finger at a nearby tree. Several branches splintered off and fell into a neat stack on the ground. Another flick and Meizan had sparked a fire. Aranel couldn’t help but feel impressed by the ease with which he channeled.
Because he’s evil, reminded a voice in his head. As evil and corrupt as the chitrons of this realm. Of course they’ll submit to his will.
Aranel studied his captor across the flames. Meizan’s brows knit together as he removed his sword and examined it under the firelight. His coarse hair was a mess, leaving Meizan’s keiza scarcely visible underneath unkempt bangs. And yet if he just brushed his hair and wiped the grime from his face…
He looks Nishakian.
With his inky black hair and angular features, Meizan could have passed for a native of Nishaki. Perhaps his ancestors had been Nishakian, centuries ago. Perhaps Meizan had Mayani blood in him still. Although a true Mayani would never manhandle me as he did.
“What are you staring at?” Meizan glowered.
“Your face.” Aranel flushed at how that sounded. “I meant that you’ve got blood. On your face. Quite a lot of it.”
“Better the blood of my enemies than their shit.”
So he had noticed. Aranel wriggled in his binds, wishing he had a wet towel.
“I don’t normally look like this,” he said, earning himself another unblinking glare before Meizan returned to scrutinizing his weapon: a single-edged blade with what appeared to be a nagamor looped around its hilt. “That’s an interesting sword,” offered Aranel. “Personally, I prefer a straight blade, but some might favor the angle of attack afforded by the slight curve.”
Meizan looked up. “You can wield a sword?”
“Of course. As part of the Kirnosi royal guard, I’ve trained in both swordplay and hand-to-hand combat.”
“And yet you couldn’t hold your own against three flaming monkeys.”
“I was trying not to harm them! I’d never fought a living being before.”
“How the hell did you train? Why learn swordplay if you’re too scared to harm anything?”
“We have exhibitions where we showcase our techniques,” said Aranel. “On chitronically powered training dummies, or sometimes fruit. Who can carve pumpkins fastest, or slice the most watermelons.”
“You learned swordplay so you could slice fruit?” Meizan’s expression was torn between horror and incredulity. “Your realm is a travesty.”
“Better we carve fruits than humans.”
“Is it?” Meizan had a strange gleam in his eyes. “The feeling of slicing down an enemy…it’s unlike anything else.”
He drew a long knife and slid it across the ground. Aranel jerked his foot away with a yelp as the blade spun dangerously close to his toes.
“Fight me,” drawled the lower. He stood, raised his own blade with a flourish, then sent out a pulse of chitrons to unravel the ropes around Aranel.
“What? No! Why?” Aranel scrambled to his feet and backed against the tree as Meizan approached.
“Because I’m bored.” Meizan flexed his shoulders, lips pulling into a smirk. “You can pretend I’m fruit, if it helps. Although you’ll be the one getting cut into.”
“But I don’t want to fight you!” cried Aranel. “And violence is wrong; you can’t cut into people simply because you’re bored! That’s precisely the sort of thing that’ll weigh on your soul.”
“Hell, you uppers are wimps.” Meizan swung his sword in a series of circles. “Who cares about souls, when…”
He trailed off, bolting to the edge of the campsite. Aranel followed, picking up the fallen knife on the way. He didn’t intend to use it himself, but it would be entirely foolish to provide potential enemies with a spare weapon.
Meizan was examining the chitronic web he’d set up earlier. One of the lines trembled, then snapped in half.
The lower lunged forward, blade flashing. Aranel threw himself to the ground as a flurry of arrows whistled overhead. He heard a thump, followed by a high-pitched yelp, and looked up to see Meizan wrestling a petite figure in an oversized blouse and baggy pants.
The figure put up a good fight, kicking and punching, hollering a barrage of expletives that made Aranel’s ears burn. There was something familiar about that high, grating voice and ill-fitting burlap smock. About that intractable dark brown hair and vivid turquoise keiza.
“Stop!” Aranel ran to Meizan and yanked him off the intruder. “Don’t hurt her!”
Meizan elbowed him in the face. Aranel staggered back, nursing a bruised cheek.
The intruder jumped to her feet, her pointed face a snarl. Her amber eyes burned with an unearthly fire as she drew her bow and aimed it at Meizan’s chest. Meizan’s blade was at her neck, cutting a thin line of blood across her brown skin.
Aranel pushed past Meizan to grab the hilt of his sword and pull it away from the girl’s neck with great effort. The intruder snapped her gaze to his, her grip around her bow slackening.
“Aranel.” Aina gawked before wrinkling her nose. “Why are you covered in shit?”
CHAPTER SIX
The Dead Mountain
“You joined the Balancers?” the upper girl asked, voice heavy with contempt. “I saw you in Kirnos just three days ago. Besides, aren’t you scared about tainting your precious, shining soul?”
“M-my recruitment was rather recent,” Aranel stammered, sending a nervous glance Meizan’s way. What was his damn problem? He kept acting like Meizan was going to bite him or something.
The girl sniffed. “After all that drivel you gave me for wanting to descend.”
“I—I was wrong,” Aranel said. “About everything. In fact, um, you inspired me, Aina. You made me realize how wrong I was. That’s, ah, that’s why I decided to join.”
Aina’s eyes grew wide, and she stared at the ground.
“How did you get here?” Aranel continued. “Should you not be at the temple, repenting your sins?”
“Where better to repent than Malin itself?” Aina muttered. “I took a flying chariot from Kirnos, then passed through the torana a few hours ago.” She turned to Meizan. “Are you a Balancer too?”
“No, but this one’s my hostage,” Meizan said. “My clanmates are sick. I’m going to trade him for medical supplies once we reach your hideout.”
Aina considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “I doubt a flake like him will fetch much, but do what you must.”
Aranel let out a strangled yell. “How is that acceptable? Are you not going to help me?”
“Why would I?” Aina asked. “He clearly needs the supplies, and while you may be a Balancer, you’re still a jerk.”
Meizan bit back a smirk at Aranel’s outraged expression. This Aina didn’t seem so bad for an upper. She was less annoying than Aranel—with his stupidly glossy hair and stupid self-righteousness—and strong for someone who just about reached his chin.
“I’m headed for the hideout too,” Aina continued, pulling out a piece of crumpled parchment. “But this way’s blocked. An entire contingent of Kaldrav’s soldiers have gathered along here.” She smoothed the map and pointed at the eastern edge of Martharan.
Meizan frowned. That wasn’t far from where he’d lost the chief. His attempts to find her had been unsuccessful. If more of Kaldrav’s soldiers had gathered in the area, there was a high chance she’d been captured.
If anything happens to me, take over as chief. Her words echoed through his mind. Do not let our clan die.
Meizan ripped the map from Aina’s hand. He’d headed southward in search of the chief but hadn’t risked going west in case more of Kaldrav’s troops remained stationed there. It had been reckless trekking through the forest with Aranel, but Meizan couldn’t return to the tunnel. The explosion would have attracted more soldiers, and the area would be swarming with enemies. The northern fringes of Martharan could also be occupied. Meizan had no way to know unless he looked upon it from above.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” Meizan said. “We’ll climb Merumarth so we can see the position of Kaldrav’s troops. We’ll probably have to cut across the mountain and circle around them if we want to reach the Balancer hideout here.” He jabbed the spot on the map that had been marked with a red circle. “Then you two can piss off and do whatever charity you’re here for, and I can get my medicine and return to my clan.”
“Why are you deciding everything, when you’re not even a Balancer?” Aranel grumbled, at which Meizan promptly whacked his head.
* * *
“We’re climbing that?” Aranel gaped as Merumarth came into view.
Meizan had become so used to staring up at the mountain from its base, he’d forgotten how much uglier it looked from afar: a grotesque pile of rock shaped like some old sod’s gnarly fist, with a single finger pointed up in eternal damnation. Or an eternal flip-off, depending on the angle.
“What’s that coming out of it?” Aranel motioned to the soot belching from Merumarth’s peak, where the sky glowed an angry vermilion.
“You don’t have volcanoes in your realm?” Meizan demanded.
“We do. But Mayani volcanoes pour forth holy nectar. Or flowers.”
Meizan snorted, and was surprised to see Aina roll her eyes. Mayana was ridiculous. Then again, what better to expect from the realm that had spawned a preening pain in the ass like Aranel? Aina looked much more human, her clothes frayed and patched like Meizan’s own.
“How are we getting up?” Aina asked, once they’d reached the southern foothills of the Dead Mountain.
Her eyes watered, and she was constantly sniffling due to the fumes. Beside her, Aranel was a sniveling mess. Neither carried a scarf, and Meizan was tempted to throttle them with his own. How had these boneheads come to Malin so unprepared?
“We’re going to climb chitronically,” Meizan said. He felt a stab of annoyance at Aranel’s stiff expression.
“It’s unsafe to channel here,” Aranel began. “You saw what happened with the kapizer earlier. I’m already stained with enough sin—”
“And shit,” Aina chimed in.
“And piss,” Meizan felt compelled to add.
“What I am saying”—Aranel raised his voice above theirs—“is that the chitrons here are unnatural. It’s as per the First Principle.”
“Get over yourself,” Meizan said. “There’s nothing unnatural about Malin’s chitrons. You’re just incompetent.”
Aranel raised his chin. “I’ll have you know I won medals in Mayana for my abilities.”
“What do you mean by Malin’s chitrons?” Aina asked before Meizan could retort. He stared at her in disbelief, and she glared back. “It’s not as if the realm has a soul!”
“He’s talking about the ambient chitrons,” Aranel explained. “The ones that make up the environment. Stop looking so shocked, Aina, you’ve channeled them before.”
“I have? When?”
“When you ran down the cliff in Kirnos. You bonded to the chitrons in the rock.”
Aina scrunched her face. “I thought I was channeling particles of the rock.”
“Conscious particles,” Aranel corrected. “Therefore chitrons.”
“How can rocks have chitrons when they don’t have souls?”
“This isn’t time to debate chitronic theory,” Meizan interrupted, swiping his keiza and bonding to the mountainside.
To his relief, the chitrons complied as he strode up the slaggy rock, though he’d have to be careful not to trigger a landslide. A grumbling Aranel followed in Meizan’s wake, but Aina stood rooted at the base, scowling as she pressed a finger against her keiza.
Aranel sighed as Aina began her shaky climb. “Her fundamentals could use some work.”
Aina’s control was abysmal. She took too long shaping the rock. Once she did, several of the steps crumbled under her weight, and she fell down and had to start over.
“Is your keiza broken or something?” Meizan asked. “Aranel, carry her up.”
“No!” Aina yelled from below, going red. “I can climb myself!”
“Your chitronic bond with the rock seems unstable,” Aranel said. He hopped down and proceeded to instruct Aina on the basics of channeling. “Try activating your chitrons again. And this time, say the incantation.”
“I’m not saying the damn incantation,” Aina seethed. “Nobody says the damn incantation.”
“Either say it,” Meizan gritted out, “or let Aranel carry you.”
Aina huffed but pressed a finger to her keiza. “Fine. What was it again? I think it went like, beloved Sherka, please lend me your—Wait, no, that’s wrong.”
“We’re in Malin,” Aranel said. “This is Azyaka’s realm, not Sherka’s.”
“I know whose bleeding realm it is,” Aina groused, once again swiping her keiza. “Revered Azyaka, please lend me your strength.”
