Most people entertained the notion that fractal enhanced powers enabled deeds of daring while, on the sidelines, admirers watched in awed appreciation. Fractals represented glamour, adventure and authority, something for others to look up to and envy. Even inherited they were a sacred trust.
Reality was different.
Training the three physical fractals Red, Magenta and Orange, involved rotations of practice, rivers of perspiration, (Ladies didn’t sweat,) and aching muscles. Followed by stomach cramps and gnawing hunger. Power was never free; it was hard won needed constant refinement and often dangerous.
The rare Yellow and Green families of talents required emotional, mental and spiritual energy. Viky’s parentals hadn’t been sure about Aqua. Fractals of those colours hadn’t existed for at least a couple of ninety-nine rotations. The few descendants who had diluted variations her parent had known never received training or even acknowledgment of the powers they potentially bestowed.
Drills to increase the abilities of Blue, Lilac and Violet fractal power required pulling on internal and external forces, those closer to the Aqua edge of the spectrum also involving mental gymnastics and the Violets with red undertones draining corporal power.
Viky loved to train. Physically working her body helped to clear her mind. Repetition, straining muscles, honing balance, fostering Strength and Speed. She warmed up and stretched, completed the program to build natural muscular strength and increase speed. Hot and sweaty, she launched into the section of her training involving standard drills. Moves intended to become so ingrained as to be instinctive. Muscle memory developed so the body could function without thought, leaving your mind free for strategy and tactics.
Thrust. Sidecut. Backhand side. Overhand. Overhead backhand. Flick. Each move delivered with the speed and force that in real combat would result in devastation. She moved lightly on her toes, a dance without music, to a rhythm only Viky could hear. Around her the air crackled and God's Fire, always attracted to such actions, it danced in graceful arcs complimenting her movements.
Mid sequence her array of small warning bells jingled.
Storm blast. Again! Was Jess visiting? This was beyond annoying. Stopping now, she'd cool down, and the whole session delayed. Her parents words of wisdom came back to her. ‘In life you can't always pick the perfect scenario, shaking up a training session isn’t always a bad thing. You can be sure a serious opponent wouldn't give you the opportunity to warm up, stretch and prepare.’
Viky’s tunic clung to her back, she wiped her face, threw a shawl around her shoulders, and hoped it would hide most of the dampness. Listening for the bells of the second tripwire to sound she assumed a meditative stance. Her heart rate dropped as breathing became more controlled. Fragments of loose gravel skidded against smooth carved rock scattered by soft steps; her third early warning ploy activated. Jess must have identified the second tripwire and avoided it.
Head lowered through her eyelashes Viky covertly watched the circular doorway. Jess was taking her time. Perhaps she turned back, realizing Viky didn't want to be disturbed.
No such luck.
Gravel scraped again, a faint footfall, someone didn’t want her to notice them coming.
Viky tensed.
There was something, a presence.
Almost a movement in the air.
A whisper of fabric.
An out of place scent Viky struggled to identify.
The lower half of her face was smothered. Neck gripped from behind Viky’s head was jerked backwards. Imbued with the unusual scent the fabric held against her mouth ensured the next gagging breath clouded her mind. A drug? Falling, she attempted to roll to the side and hold her breath. Couldn't get a hand or fingers under whatever was around her neck. Now there was pressure on her chest. Viky gasped, wished she hadn’t. A dull wave of lethargy tugged her limbs and all the shadows under the aurora crowded to close in around her mind.
No!
This was not the way it was supposed to happen.
Flaring Strength she struggled. Her attacker was larger, but not heavy.
Thrashing, she tried turning to the side again. Got partially free of whatever was on her face, the pressure on her neck increased.
She needed to breathe.
No, needed to think.
She couldn't see the person trying to garrot her.
But they had to be there.
Close.
Constricting their grip.
Viky tapped Speed and smashed her head upward. Her skull connected with something squishy with a satisfying thwonk.
The deadly grip slackened for half a heartbeat.
Viky followed through with a right hook supplemented with Strength.
There was a sickening and gratifying thwack.
The energy in Viky’s body called for release and she swung with her other balled fist. The partial contact swung her from the attacker grasp.
Where was her attacker?
Invisibility.
Stormblast Lilac fractals.
Her heart missed a beat, but she couldn't afford to be distracted. She'd been training better than that. She scanned for other dangers, nothing visible, but that was the point. How did you defending yourself against a person you couldn’t see. And men worked as teams. The world lurched as she scrambled to shaky feet, tapped full Speed, and fled from the room.
Eleven heartbeats. Impressive for a young woman of only ten rotations and enough to get a good head start on anyone else not possessing fractal power enhanced Speed. It was tempting to keep going, but the cost was too great. Use too much energy and your muscles will be weak for days. Push further, and you end up on the ground in a convulsing, unconscious, mess of jerking limbs. And her head was already pounding.
Viky broke her pace down to a jog, checking back over her shoulder. The action shot spears of pain into her throbbing skull. She couldn't see anyone following. Her parents had always warned her to check for dangers coming from above. Both escape routes and attacks could be vertical, but attempting the action was excruciating.
Viky reached the junction of the service tunnel and the main Broadway. For the first time since the fight she thought of her baby.
Guilt queuing among other boisterous emotions. Using physical powers didn't affect an unborn child but a mother being strangled couldn’t be good.
Impatiently she brushed hair from her face. Hot, sweaty, flustered, hair a red-hot mess. Just the sort of thing that would be noticed and attention was the last thing she wanted. She couldn't go back to the enclave in her current state. And her need for sustenance bordered on desperation.
Food, time to recover, and she needed to stop shaking before having to face anyone in the sisterhood. Her concept of exhaustion felt redefined. The closest canteen would be fully occupied and perhaps the most obvious place the person who attacked her would consider looking.
If they intended to finish the job. There had to be a better plan. Viky stumbled onto the Broadway, but didn’t go far, when she was sure no one was looking ducked into the next service tunnel.
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***
Dereniik held no expectations. He was early, and Viky didn’t come every day. Only twice in the last nine days, but companionship was welcome. He had plenty to think about with his own investigation, but never able to leave questions unanswered and her enquiry had him intrigued.
A wave of solicitude swept over him. The desire to shelter and protect the girl-child. Only she wasn’t a child. Viky was a bonded woman, in another five or six months she would be a mother. Independent and proud, she wouldn’t thank him for paternal feelings. And why did he even have them? What protection could a disabled person provide? Jieleem seemed a decent fellow, and a Phaser, adequate to supply any needed security.
Impatient with himself Dereniik shook his head, she didn't need him.
“My Lord Commander Dereniik, greetings. Is this seat taken?” Honourable Healer Flagsteen asked grinning.
The canteen was sparsely occupied. Dereniik had seated himself in an alcove facing the entry, convenient both to the personal room and the smorgasbord. The young Healer’s approach was a pleasant surprise.
“I am currently dining alone, My Lord, and I would welcome your company.”
With a clunk, Flagsteen placed a large platter overflowing with delicacies between them and jauntily invited Dereniik to help himself.
“I’ll be back in a heartbeat with Caraaf.”
A third trip to the smorgasbord was necessary to retrieve napkins. Flagsteen stubbed his toe on the table leg before sitting and then used a napkin to mop up the Caraaf that had sloshed from overfilled mugs when the table had been bumped. When the youth finally settled he offered a silent prayer before tucking into the feast.
“Honourable Commander Flagsteen, I have not yet had the opportunity to express my appreciation for your assistance over the last nine days. The Healing you gave me has helped tremendously, and the powder you sent is effective in settling my stomach.” Dereniik selected another piece of crunchy flat seed bread.
“Oh, just call me Flags, and it would be better if you didn't express appreciation. In fact, it will be best if you forgot about it.” The overripe fruit Flagsteen selected squirted pips over his fingers and face.
“That will be difficult, Flags, it's made a tremendous difference to my life. I trust your actions in my behalf did not result in too much trouble.”
Flagsteen wiped his face before licking his fingers.
“Oh, I'm always in trouble, don't worry about me. My skills are too valuable for severe disciplinary action. At least they have learned their lesson about that.” The words were bitter. “But enough about me, just out of curiosity, before we change the topic, how did you come to absorb so much white barseniic? Did you have to hide out in the chimney of an abandoned smelter or something?”
“No, I was informed my organs had been damaged as a result of eating unprocessed vegetation.”
Flagsteen frowned, finishing a mouthful. As he reached towards a small bowl it tipped against a tiny jug upsetting the contents. “More like unprocessed iron. Did you need to eat rocks?”
“Not to my knowledge,” He had been starving, in agony, and not always lucid. Could he have forgotten swallowing rocks? “I foraged whatever I could from the forest, mostly mosses. What would white barseniic taste like?”
Flagsteen shook his head. “No taste, I'm just curious as to how you got so much in your system. If you ate clumps of dirt with iron present, most of it would be excreted before being absorbed into the bloodstream and contaminating your organs. For the amount you had, I think it would need to have been dissolved, possibly consumed as a liquid. Did you have a regular water source?”
“Yes, but the stream I found and followed led to a small village. Everyone living there drank from the stream without ill effects. What does white barseniic look like?”
Flagsteen dropped a slice of hussan cheese from his roll, it ran down his cowl in greasy globules. “I've only seen it as white fine crystals. A little like coarse salt. Some of the old Healers use it to induce vomiting. But there are better and safer methods. Mixed with water the crystals dissolve and it becomes almost impossible to detect.”
“Could the people in the village have built up a tolerance, like the Xianees do with some species of toxic trees?” Dereniik asked.
“Don’t think so. If they ingested negligeable amounts over a long period of time, the body could remove some from the system, but constant exposure would cause it to build up and cause the same complications you have been experiencing. How long were you drinking from the stream?”
“About a month in the jungle. Then another month before I was able to leave the village and return to the civilisation. My leg had become seriously infected, and I couldn’t ride. You know how sensitive to scent Nisayaan are.”
Flagsteen nodded. “I wonder, did the villagers treat your leg with white powder? Barseniic can be absorbed through the skin, particularly if it's been broken.”
“No. Although I wasn't always conscious.”
“Well, it's a puzzle. And we will possibly never know the answer. If you ingested a large amount all at once, everything I looked up says it would have killed you outright. But fathoming how you slowly ingested the amount I purged from your system is beyond the scope of my imagination. Although over the rotations barseniic has been used creatively.”
“What do you mean?” Dereniik asked. Flagsteen evidently spent time solving medical mysteries just as he had once ruminated over criminal cases.
“Traditionally the people of Elimelek used to purge vermin infested homes with barseniic. Trouble was of course if they didn’t get rid of it all after, it didn’t just kill vermin. There were some nasty accidents before the Power Wars. And before that some ancient hill tribes in the Amaranthaan mountain range used it to mummify and preserve the bodies of dead loved ones. Barseniic kills the creatures that normally drive the process of decomposition and one manuscript suggested it could have contributed to the people dying out. You haven't by any mischance been in contact with corpses or had your suite treated in any way?”
“No, not at all.”
Deep in thought they ate in silence for a while, or Dereniik ate and Flagsteen cleaned up the Carroob crumbs he had dropped.
“How are white arsenic crystals obtained from the ores?” Dereniik found himself intrigued. If he understood the process, it may yield clues as to how he had become poisoned.
“It’s quite interesting,” Flagsteen grinned. “When metals such as iron and lead are extracted from the ground as ores, they are often contaminated with barseniic. To obtain pure metal the ore is roasted in fire and the barseniic is released as a gas. It reacts to something in the air. Condensing in the chimneys as a white solid. This is periodically scraped off to prevent the chimney from getting blocked.”
Flagsteen took a bite from the wrap, the filling oozed out over his hands. It wasn’t unusual for some youths to go through a clumsy stage. One of his own younger brothers had spent the best part of a rotations with scabs on his knees and elbows. The memory brough a smile to his lips as he wondered about Flagsteen age.
“Now you can see why I needed the napkins.”
Dereniik nodded, his memory tossing out the tantalizing echoes of precious moments with his children. His four-rotation old had been a messy eater. It hurt too much to think of his children, his baby daughter would be walking now, eating solids, running on chubby legs. She had taken after him, even had a few green and lilac streaks in her fine yellow hair.
“Do you think now you have removed the barseniic from my body my health will continue to improve?” Dereniik asked.
“Hard to say, I didn’t have time for a full examination, and you have other health concerns. What worries me is that other Healers didn’t pick the poisoning up. I mean I didn’t know it was barseniic when I saw you the other day. Just knew it was toxic and needed removal. But it didn’t take a lot of research to discover. Not that you can trust everything you read, but I conducted a few of my own experiments so now I’m sure.”
“Research and experiments, what you're doing medically has similarities to what I used to do as a Deputized Operative Commander. I'd be more than willing to help.” Dereniik offered, a world of possibilities opening.
“It would be great to have your assistance with some of the research. But you need to have inherited Healing for most of the experiments I conducted.” Flagsteen chuckled.
“Why was it important to find out what the poison was once you had cured me?” Dereniik asked slowly but then answered the enquiry himself. “Because you had questions. It should have already killed me, there was a possibility I was still being exposed to the poison.”
Flagsteen grinned and nodded.
“Maybe. Hard to know. But I am glad you are feeling better now.”
“Thank you. We get taught all fractal powers have costs, how expensive was it to Heal me?”
“We don’t get taught enough about fractal powers and even then, not all the information is correct.” Flagsteen made a depreciating gesture, avoided the question and knocked a handful of cut cellee across the table.
“Anything else I should know about barseniic?” Dereniik asked.
“Apparently, it was used a lot for murders during the Power Wars. Most poisons used today are plant derivatives.”
Stimulating conversation made up for the continuous hazards involved with sitting for a meal in Flagsteen’s company. Dereniik put a protective hand around his Caraaf as Flagsteen bumped the table again attempting to scoop up scattered cellee. No wonder the kid needed such a large platter, a lot of the food wasn't going to end up in his stomach.
“Thank you for your efforts in my behalf.”
“Yeah well, I heard you were always on the lookout for the little guy.” Flagsteen grinned.
They should start a mutual admiration society.
Flagsteen sprang from his seat with a cry and there was nothing Dereniik could do to save his Caraaf.
Dereniik swivelled.
Viky stumbled into the canteen. Hair dishevelled, frightened eyes wide, looking like she had run a marathon.
“Take a seat my lady, be at peace,” Flagsteen’s voice was professional, gentle, and persuasive.
Viky had not entered the canteen from the doorway opposite Dereniik but appeared from a service tunnel used by the D’char.
“Viky what is wrong?” Dereniik searched for potential dangers, words held captive by the well of deep sympathy that had opened inside himself.
Recognition reflected in her eyes, and a croaking noise came from her throat. A cloud of confusion cast its brief shadow on a pale face.
Flagsteen gently brushed hair from her neck, revealing extensive bruising. “Don’t try and talk my lady. I'm a Healer. I'm going to put my hands around the front of your neck.
You're going to feel hot and cold and then beautifully warm.
Just relax, focus on taking nice deep breaths, almost done now, one more deep breath, in and out, there, doesn't that feel much better?”
Flagsteen removed his hands. “Er, don’t talk yet, you need to eat, and drink, excuse the mess on the table. I’ll get you something.”
Viky felt her throat. Glanced from Flagsteen’s retreating form to Dereniik, pushed her shoulder back and with effort sat taller.
“Is your offer of help still on the table?” Her voice was raspy.
“Of course, Viky what happened?”
“I was attacked, someone tried to kill me.”
Dereniik squared his shoulders, projected a confidence he didn't feel. He'd wanted a mystery to solve. But he didn't want his new little friend in the middle of it, didn't want her to be hurt. There was no way he could sit back and not render assistance. But if his best was all they had, and the thief was going to be physically violent, he didn't like their chances.