Chapter Eighteen: A City to the North

“Emma?” Iarin asks.

“Yeah?”

“I-I’m sorry, but I... I want to make sure you understand something.” Her expression is set, her grey eyes determined.

“Understand what?” I ask, feeling distant and faraway from the conversation, my thoughts floating away into the far-off stormclouds.

“L-look, Kagami doesn’t seem to be the sort of person who fights on his own. H-he always uses someone else as a pawn. H-he’s been playing Sareil and Hanora off each other all this time, when, whatever he wants to accomplish, he’s probably strong enough to do it on his own.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say that, on a smaller scale, he now has a p-pawn to use against us.”

“Who?”

“Y-you know who I’m talking about, Emma.”

“Do I, now.”

“S-stop avoiding the topic!”

“Okay.”

“E-emma, listen to me! Listen. While Kagami’s got someone to use as a shield, n-none of us wil be able to hurt him. W-we might not be able to defeat Kagami until someone gets rid of that shield. One of us might have to do it, or we’ll have to give up on this altogether. Someone will have to. I-if we’re going to beat K-kagami, one of us could have to kill Koreth.”

I look up to the tumbling stormclouds, the distant haze of hills, the sparse Shadowgrass, the small dark circles of heavy raindrops falling to the muddy ground.

“Iarin, just leave me alone.”

* * * * *

I barely sleep at all that night, just lying there to look up at the miserable sky, not allowing myself to think but thinking anyway, drifting about in a haze of rain and dirt and cold. Because the thing is, Iarin’s right. There’s no way to wake Koreth up. He’d be almost dead anyway, even if Kagami’s spell was broken.

But we can’t kill him. I can’t, and I won’t let Iarin or Attaraya or Sae. Even though he’s lost to me, even though he can’t be saved, I’ll protect him until the day I die.

I close my eyes and slip into an uneasy sleep, punctuated by dreams of the dark, the voice, and the other me.

* * * * *

Grey morning spreads over the Sareilian sky, above us, the tired rain plods on.

Attaraya, humming tunelessly, gets up to make herself some breakfast. Sae is carefully trying to pack her blanket away one-handed. Iarin is just barely awake, but when she turns to look at me, her pale forehead creases into a frown.

“Y-you didn’t sleep, did you?” she asks.

I shake my head. Actually, now that she mentions it, I haven’t had much rest since the day before we entered Dara-Kozca, and haven’t slept properly since leaving Naroth. I must have some awful dark circles under my eyes.

Attaraya shoots me a glance over her slightly soggy chunk of bread. “Maybe Iarin should do something about that bruise. It’s looking pretty bad.”

I raise my eyebrows in questioning manner.

“On your face,” Sae says. “It must have happened in Dara-Kozca when you... fell.”

I vaguely remember being hurt when Koreth pushed me aside, but I don’t feel anything. I raise a hand to my face and am surprised to find that there’s a place there that sends a dull pain through my cheek when I put pressure on it.

“H-here, I’ll Heal it,” Iarin says softly, and does so.

“So, where to now?” Attaraya says when she finishes.

“Irim Kuarth,” Sae tells her. “That’s obvious enough.”

“I know that, but how can we get there? It’s across the ocean. Could we teleport? We could go down to Sarracor and find someone willing to send us across.”

“Not Sarracor,” says Sae, “It’s part of the Republic. Swarming with Hanoradra, especially soldiers. Iarin and Emma might be okay, but even under the best of circumstances there’s a price on my head, and Attaraya’s probably wanted for deserting by now. Someone’s got to have realized she’s dropped off the face of the Earth.”

“S-sae’s right, but for the wrong reasons. W-we might be able to get to Sarracor unnoticed, and m-many of the people in the colonies would be all too happy to help us, they’re not fond of Hanora a-at all. But in the end, i-it would all come to nothing, because you can’t teleport in and out of Irim Kuarth. There’s too much magic in the air. The Pillar would interfere with a teleportation spell, you’d end up miles away from where you wanted to be.” Iarin glances at me. “The Pillar is the source of Kuarthian magic. It’s in their old capital, the city of Ran’zai,” she explains, “I-I… I suppose we could get teleported a mile or so offshore, that might work, b-but… er… I can’t swim.”

“Nor can I,” Sae says.

Attaraya snorts. “What does that matter? Who says either of you have to come along?” Question, I think, targeted more at Sae than at Iarin.

“I-I…I can’t just let an innocent person die… I knew K-Koreth as well. B-besides, you might need a Healer—”

“Not you! What about the Bleachead? She doesn’t have to come along.”

“I owe Emma my life twice over now,” Sae says, “I’ll do what I can to pay it back to her. Besides, I’ve a score to settle with Kagami. This is the most convenient way to do it.”

Attaraya glares at her for a moment, but finally rolls her eyes and concedes, “Fine. Well, where do we go, then? We can’t go home to Hanora, not with the Bleachead and me, and we’ve got to go after Kagami... Ealym seems to be the only way to go from here. Say, Iarin, are there any good sailors up there?”

“No sailor in their right mind would go up to Irim Kuarth. It just isn’t done. People are too superstitious. Irim Kuarthians have just about died out, but people are still afraid of the hakudra, the demons.”

“But that’s just Blea—” (Iarin glares at Attaraya over her breakfast.) “Fine, Sareilian superstition, isn’t it? Aren’t the Ealymians supposed to be all... scientific?”

“W-whether we’re ‘scientific’ or not, the currents in the Kuarthian Ocean will be unsafe. Because it’s almost Rainhalt, the rain from Sareil will be moving north, c-causing storms, and it won’t be safe to sail. We’ll have to find another, hopefully quicker way.”

“Well, good luck finding someone completely insane,” Sae says.

For some reason, that phrase tugs at some part of my memory, but I can’t think why. Completely insane...

“Like the flying machine guy,” I say suddenly.

Everyone turns to look at me in surprise.

“The flying machine guy. In Naroth.”

“Yes. About that level of insane,” says Sae.

“W-wait! That gives me an idea. Kael– that was his name, right?– s-said he was going to Litha. Right? H-he probably wouldn’t mind taking us to Irim Kuarth... at least up to the coast...”

“I thought you said we couldn’t teleport.” says Attaraya.

“N-no!” Iarin’s eyes are bright with fervor, “D-don’t you get it? We could take the flying machine there!”

Silence.

“Uh... Iarin. Look. I hate to break this to you, but... it... It. Doesn’t. Fly. It’s just a couple of sticks glued to a box! You’re expecting way too much. Kael’s just another crazy person.”

“I don’t think so.” Iarin says. “I t-took a look at it when we were in Naroth, and the design actually looks somewhat aerodynamic. If it has any promise, I’m sure it’s been tested and improved on... I-it’s our only good option.”

“You’re insane.” Attaraya tells her flatly.

“W-well, the Scholars will know whether it works or not. Th-they’ll tell us,” Iarin says, looking down at the mud as though embarrassed that she brought it up in the first place.

“Whatever we decide on, Ealym sounds like the best direction for now. At least we’ll have... how d’you say... a refuge there.”

“How far away is Litha?”

“P-pretty far. We’ll be able to stop and rest along the way, though. In Athene. M-my hometown. Some people there remember my... my parents. Th-they might at least give us a place to stay the night.”

Well, that’s certainly better hospitality than we’ve had since Zenna’s house back almost a week ago. I’m okay with that.

* * * * *

As we progress north, the rain turns to sleet, mercilessly pounding down as we climb ever-higher hills, and the temperature drops like a ten-pound bowling ball. By noon, I’m soaked, shivering, and utterly miserable, and the others don’t seem to be faring too well either– except for Iarin, who appears utterly unfazed by the cold and precipitation. In fact, she appears to be humming as we travel, seriously, absolutely humming, a big smile on her face. I’d be happy to know about this development if the rest of us weren’t so utterly miserable.

By midafternoon, we’ve had our first encounter with two things: one, the tall mountain range within which, according to Iarin, the nation of Ealym lies, some of the peaks so high I can barely see the top; and two, miserable, slushy snow. By evening, my (already somewhat worse for wear) secondhand tennis shoes are soaked through.

“What’s up with this?” I demand of Iarin, “It’s... for pity’s sake, it’s May! ...No, not even, it’s June, by now!”

“Y-yup!” says Iarin brightly, “The nice time of year!”

Nice... time... of... year?

“I d-don’t really see what you’re complaining about!” She glances at my miserable expression, and acknowledges, “W-well, I guess today is a little gloomy... b-but by the end of the month, the snow will be all gone! I-in fact, in midsummer, the valleys are as warm as Hanora.” She give me a winning smile as though I should be as overjoyed by this concept as she is. “S-see, even now the sleet is clearing up a bit!”

It’s true, the sleet is clearing up “a bit,” but not nearly as much as I would have liked to see the sleet clear up. Besides, I can see that, between the mountains on the horizon, the sun is on the verge of setting, so, whether the sleet is clearing up “a bit” or not, we’ll all freeze to death trying to fall asleep tonight. This is honestly worse than in Sareil, I think as I find myself ankle deep in slush again, at least there were villages there. And besides, the rain was somewhat warm.

It’s not a good sign when you find yourself longing for the freaking Land of Rain.

No one really wants to set up camp in this sludge, but we’re still not happy when Iarin presses us on.

“Athene’s just a mile or so away,” she insists, “I-if we keep walking for another hour or so...”

So now we’re plodding on, in the sleet, ankle deep in slush, and in the dark as well. My God, I never want to see another raindrop in my life. If I ever get out of this mess, I’m moving to the Sahara.

Somewhere between wondering when the fabled moment when the sleet stops is going to happen, and wondering if Iarin actually knows the way to Athene or if she’s just sort of winging it, I see the faint glow of a lantern, blurred by sleet, off a short distance away.

“Th-there it is!” Iarin shouts. The rest of us, with newfound vigor, start off towards the city ahead and the hope of shelter.

There’s a guardhouse by the city gates, which are made of wrought iron and set in an elaborate pattern. In the guardhouse, behind glass windows, a middle-aged man with spectacles perched on his nose and an austere expression turns to see us. He pushes the window open.

“Iarin?” he inquires, doubtfully.

Iarin nods.

The two of them exchange a few more words in a language I presume is that of Ealym. The man nods and pulls a lever in the guardhouse.

The gates crash open, and hesitantly, I follow Iarin through.

The walkways of Athene are covered by awnings, the pavement is dry. Even in the dark and through the sleet, the town seems surprisingly clean and quiet. Streetlamps are lit, candles placed within hanging lanterns. The orderly houses, almost all of them with lights visible in the windows, circle an empty courtyard.

Behind the houses rises a great stone facade, carved with ornate designs, a great stained glass window, tall oak doors protected from the sleet by a towering arch.

“Is that a cathedral, or something?” I ask.

Iarin shakes her head. “I-it’s the Scholar’s Library. There’s one in every town. A group o-of five Scholars runs every village in Ealym, and there are ten for the bigger cities. Litha has twenty-five, the Head Scholars. Th-they are the most learned people in Ealym, a-and it’s their duty to oversee the nation’s affairs.”

“I see. So Ealym’s sort of like a... a... knowledge-ocracy, or something.”

Iarin smiles at my description. “Something like that. M-my... my parents, they were Scholars of Athene.”

“Were?”

“Y-yes.”

I don’t press the subject. Instead, I ask, “So have you, like... got a place of your own, or what? “

”I do. B-but there’s probably not enough room for all of us. We can stay at the inn.”

She steers me down a brick walkway to a neat, comfortable-looking brick building, and lets us through the door.

The smiling proprietor of the inn lead us to each of our room, hands us the key, and points out the baths– apparently fed by a natural hot springs– at the end of the hall.

I’m so tired I could just about drop on the floor and sleep right here, but, especially after today’s slush escapades, I need a bath, and badly. I proceed down the hall.

The room is clean, with white marble floors and walls, the bath, set into the floor, is about the size and depth of a small backyard swimming pool. The water is warm, and feels like heaven after a whole day of trekking in the cold and sleet. After about twenty minutes, the warmth of the water becomes less pleasant and I begin to feel uncomfortably hot and dizzy, so after tipping my head back in an ineffectual attempt to get my hair clean, I step out and dry myself off.

I feel much better now, for some reason, though still sleepy, but now, in a pleasant way. The world feels a bit hazy, and I slip on the simple white dress left for me with the intent of going to my room and getting much-needed rest. I step out of the room, and, glancing around the unfamiliar corridor to find the door, my eyes light on a small mirror on one wall. Something there catches my attention, and I step closer to the mirror, my heart pounding, to see if it’s still there, or if I’m just imagining things.

It’s still there.

I push the shoulder of the dress aside, to look closer, to make sure it’s really there, not just a mark on the mirror. It’s really there.

A line of neat, small black letters goes across my right shoulder, not paint, but apparently tattooed on. They aren’t English letters, the word isn’t English or Hanoran or whatever either. But I can read it. For reasons I don’t even know, I can read it. I don’t know why it’s there, or what it could mean, but it sends my heart pounding and makes me feel dizzy and faint. The neat black letters on my shoulder form words, and they read:

Subject XIII.

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So laaaate.... Sorry, I've basically been going from deadline to deadline to deadline all month long, I wasn't able to get much editing done for ages. But... now the chapter's up. Woohoo.

Anyway, I know this one isn't perfect, (this might just be the most boring chapter ever written), but I'm kind of glad to be through with the Dara-Kozca story arc anyway. *celebrates*.

Go ahead and rip it apart, everybody, thanks for all your help and support so far! Chapter nineteen is going to have to be split into two halves again... oh well.