The guard captain sat down in the chair across from him. The man, in his early thirties, would normally command the respect of any even suspected of a crime, but Mal was too tired to show deference. They were in a small interrogation room, and Mal’s wrists were bound to a table in front of him. A lantern hung from the wall, but the window provided enough sunlight that there was no point in lighting it. Still the room was damp and dark.
“You killed three men, and maybe four if the other doesn’t waken,” the captain informed him coldly.
“I’ve killed a good deal more than that, boy,” Mal taunted back. “Been killing men since before my beard grew in, but I’ve been doing it for the Empire mostly. Never did kill a man who wasn’t trying to kill me back though. Or, in the case of those scum, wasn’t committing banditry. Good coin in hunting down bandits. I’m no Seeker though. Just happened to be in the right place at the right time to save those boys.”
“Save them? Is that the story you’re going with? What poison did you give the slave? He’s completely unresponsive, and we need to question him,” the captain asked.
“The poison you found was for me. As was the grave you haven’t mentioned but I’m sure you’ve found. I have liver rot. Today was supposed to be my last day,” Mal said. “But my damned luck got in the way of that plan. And the boy’s. Damnable Fates are always sweeping me off the path I choose.”
The captain was silent for a moment, and Mal could feel the man reexamining his face for the signs of his disease. He could sense the captain slacken his suspicion slightly. “Do you have any connection with the Makavian family? Or the men you slew?”
“Makavian? I’m with the Torvan Company. I don’t know that we’ve ever worked for the Makavians, the name means nothing to me. Is that the family of the little rich boy who ran off?”
“Shajita Makavian, yes. Nine years old, third son of the the eldest son of the Makavian patriarch. He and his immediate family were traveling through our area when he ran away from his keepers to play. You knew none of this?” the captain inquired.
“Heard someone call the kid Shaji. Whatever, it’s nothing to a dying man,” Mal shrugged. “Who were the kidnappers?”
“Thugs who escaped a work camp to strike back at the family which imprisoned them. Or so I’m told. It’s outside of my lands. I’m only concerned with the bodies and the claims of kidnapping that happened in the forest where I hold sway.”
“Well, if you want to hang me for killing the men, I won’t fight you too much on it,” Mal suggested. “Not the most dignified end, but it’s still better than letting my disease take its course.”
“At the moment I’m simply trying to figure out exactly what happened,” the captain argued. “Might be that those men needed killing and you saved me some time and effort. I know of no bounty on them, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one. I’ve dispatched a rider to the lands where the Makavians say they came from to inquire after them.”
“Might be that I wasn’t planning on sticking around long enough for your rider to make the journey, if you take my meaning, captain,” Mal said. “I’ll answer any questions you have because I’m a law abiding man. But I’m running out of my good days, and I’d prefer to check out before all I have left are the bad ones.”
“I understand. If there is a bounty on them, what would you like us to do with it? Do you have family?”
“Give it to the boy. Not the rich one. The slave. Hold it in trust for him until he’s freed himself and then give him the coin. He’ll need it.”
“I understand. I’ll try to make the appropriate arrangements, but only the Fates know the future,” the captain promised. He pulled a key ring from his waist and undid the sergeant’s bindings. “I think that’s enough for now. I believe your account, and I’m willing to let you go if you submit to a Tracker. I’m afraid we’ll be keeping your weapons until the conclusion of the investigation, and we already destroyed the poison you had on you. But I see no reason to force you to spend your final days in a prison cell.”
“Thank you, son,” Mal said.
“We’ll get you bound, and then I’ll show you the way out,” the captain promised, and he led Mal from the room.
Tracking sigils were a common method of keeping track of prisoners and slaves. Temporary ones were simply stamped onto the subject’s skin, which is what the captain did to Mal’s wrist to mark him. The iron stamp bore the sigil for ‘Law,’ but it was the ink that was special. The captain used the same stamp before it had dried to stamp a vellum, and the two would be linked. For as long as Mal was a suspect, the vellum could be used to track him down anywhere on the continent.
The permanent ones were tattoos or brands, but there was no need to subject Mal to such treatment. His mark would not wash off unless he returned to have it removed, but he had little intention of doing so. The permanent measures were for runaway slaves and convicted criminals.
“There he is, father! That’s the man who saved me,” a young voice called as the captain was showing him the exit. Mal turned to find the young master of the Makavians pointing excitedly at him. His colorful tunic had been torn in his desperate flight from the forest, and his eyes were still wide with excitement at the day’s events. “He fought off a dozen men, and then when the leader held me hostage he threatened to--”
“That’s enough, Shaji,” the boy’s father said calmly. Like the boy, the father was dressed well, in a colorful merchant’s robe, with rings on each hand and a stamped silver medallion hanging from his neck. “Captain? Is it true? Did this man save my boy?”
“So he claims. If your identifications of the dead men and their past deeds are accurate, then he has done the law a service. There remains the injured man and the slave to question, but I have authorized Sergeant Mal to be released with a Tracking sigil pending the outcome of our investigation.”
“It was just luck,” Mal insisted. “I just happened to overhear the abduction attempt and decided to do something about it.”
“Then you must allow me to thank you!” the rich man said. “Tell me what you desire, and if it is within my reach I will put it in your grasp. Do you wish coin? Women? These are not the lands where my family holds sway, but if you return with me I can give you power as well!”
Mal was silent for a moment, as he once again felt his luck pulling at him. Or the boy’s luck pulling at his, rather. Simply closing the boy’s gates wasn’t enough, the boy needed to take his First Steps. Mal could delay his departure long enough to set the child upon his path.
“Why don’t we start with a meal,” he suggested. “I am a mercenary by trade, although I’m staying in town rather than the garrison at present. My lodgings are a squalid thing, and if you could arrange better--”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“You will be our guest, of course!” the man interrupted. “And we will throw you a feast at the inn to celebrate your heroism! I am Dueque Makavian, and this is Shaji, my third child. Come with us, and tell us your story, stranger, as I wish to know everything about the man who saved my son from those vile men!”
A feast? Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Scratching his beard, Mal followed the rich man to the inn, lying about his life story with every step along the way. After all, the rich don’t really want to know the truth when they ask about a poor man’s life.
~~~~~~~~
Baturya burst awake to darkness, sitting upright in an unfamiliar place. He felt different, somehow. The bruises he’d suffered ‘playing’ with Shaji seemed to have already faded, and he felt invigorated somehow. And, for some reason, the back of his right hand itched. He scratched and looked in the pale moonlight and saw the sigil for ‘Law’ had been stamped upon it.
“It was the only way they’d let us take you out of the dungeons,” the old man’s voice came from the darkness. “Don’t worry, they’ll wash it off once they question you. But it itches, doesn’t it? It’s a constant little nag for me, but for you I bet it’s a dozen times worse. Ki incompatibility. The unawakened don’t notice it at all, but the ink they use for the Tracking Sigils are infused with Ki. That’s how they work. An Awakened can burn the ink away with a bit of practice, effort, and knowhow, which is a truth we don’t advertise too broadly.”
“Where are we?” the boy asked, taking a defensive posture as he turned to face the stranger.
“In the basement of the inn your masters are staying at,” Mal answered. He uncovered his lantern and turned up the wick, filling the room with a steady light that illuminated the barrels and sacks of potatoes and rice and flour. “I understand you usually sleep in your master’s bedside, but it seems that he’s still suspicious that you’re responsible for the excitement today.”
“I had nothing to do with it! I never betrayed them! I had to take the coin or they would have slit my throat, but I told Master Dueque that his son was in danger as soon as I could! I swear--”
“I don’t care, boy. Dueque believes you or he wouldn’t have asked for you back, it’s the little lordling who’s suspicious of you. I have bigger concerns than the family politics of the Makavians and their slaves,” Mal said, waving the topic away. “Simply explain yourself honestly tomorrow. The captain has Truthsense. He wasn’t broadcasting it, but I could tell. He’ll be able to sniff out any lies or deflections you feed him, so don’t try. He’s the one to appeal to for intervention with your master. I can’t do anything about it one way or the other.”
Baturya frowned, looking around the small room suspiciously. His last memories were of the forest, and a burning sensation in his core, circulating through his body. A feeling of power that he could almost--
“Stop that,” the man scolded. “It was enough trouble to put those patches in place. You don’t want to burst them open again until you’re ready, believe me. I won’t be around next time to close your gates. The way you were burning your Ki is the reason you spent the last twelve hours unconscious. It’s not your fault, Awakening in the middle of a fight is never pleasant. You’ve got your luck to thank that you survived at all. You’d be dead if I hadn’t been there.”
“Awakening?” the boy frowned. “I’m a slave. I can’t Awaken.”
Mal scoffed. “Who says that? Has nothing to do with how you were born. Some bloodlines are stronger than others, its true. Others have methods of awakening that are tried and true. Took me months to open my gates using one of the Orthodox methods common to mercenary troops, but I had no talent for it. But anyone can Awaken, from slaves to princesses to merchant’s sons. And you have most definitely Awakened.”
“But I’m too young,” Baty argued.
“Heard of toddlers doing it, in the big sect families,” Mal countered. “They say the younger you awaken the stronger you grow. That’s not exactly true. Awakening young is both a blessing and a curse, which is why I haven’t told anyone about you. You’re unaffiliated, and that’s a problem. We’ve got to get you a Master as soon as possible, and I’m not up to the task.”
“I have a master,” Baturya began, but the sergeant waved him off.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m already working on severing your debt to the Makavians. Rather, I inquired about buying you from them. After that, I can just set you free. Shouldn’t be a problem, I have enough coin saved up to buy five or six little slave boys if I wanted, although feeding them would be another matter” Mal informed the child. “And Master Dueque is very grateful to me right now for saving his child. Anyway, that’s not the sort of master I was speaking of. Your Awakening … boy, I’ve only heard stories of something like that happening. You need the guidance of a Master of the martial orders. Unfortunately most of them will at best turn you away, and at worst some of them will kill you to keep you from becoming a problem in the future.”
“What?! Why would they kill me?” Baty asked, alarmed.
“For your potential. Son, I’ve got no talent, but I’ve been an adept for close to forty years. I could barely close your gates once you burst them open, and you just about undid all of my work just by flexing against the patches I put in place. I can’t even gauge how strong you’ll be if you got the proper tutelage, but I know that you could be a monster. There are some sects out there who would rather nip such a problem in the bud then allow you to mature to the point where you could threaten them.”
“You really think I’ll be that strong?” Baturya frowned, looking at his hand in confusion. “I can’t even beat Shaji when we play-fight.”
Mal scoffed. “I have a feeling that’s about to change, which might be a problem if you snap one of your gates open by mistake. The sooner I teach you to control your ki flow the better. If the sects start hearing about a slave boy killing his master with ki, someone will come to investigate, and it might not be the type of person you want sniffing around.”
“Wouldn’t they hang me?”
“No. If you used a knife, they’d do worse than that. But if you used ki, they’d send the Seekers after you, and then they’d contact the sects to have them investigate and decide your fate,” Mal explained. “I’m not strong enough to do much with my ki, it barely shows in the wounds I make unless you know what you’re looking for. You’re something else though, kid. Can’t say what you’re going to be capable of before long because I don’t know. All I can do is teach you how to regulate your flow inside your body, and how to open and close your gates by yourself. We’ve got to do the first part of that before you’re ready for the second, which isn’t usually a problem, except for the way your gates are only stuck shut by a thin filament of my own ki at the moment.”
“Your ki? You did something--”
“You’d be dead if I hadn’t. Don’t worry, it’s normal first aid for someone who Awakens in combat or stressful situation.”
“Oh,” Baturya said, then eyed the strange man suspiciously. “Why are you helping me? I’m just a slave.”
Mal scoffed. “That might have been true yesterday. But the Fates have their hooks in you, boy. They pulled us together for a reason, though I can’t fathom what that might be. But I’ve spent my entire adult life trusting my luck, and my luck is telling me to help you. Sometimes, son, it’s best to simply allow yourself to be swept along by the winds. Fighting the strings of fate just makes the hooks hurt more. Now pull yourself up and sit like this. You need to learn how to cycle your energy properly.”
In the dim light of the lantern, the old sergeant guided the boy through a breathing exercise. They sat across from each other in the lotus position, and Mal taught the boy how Ki cycled. Starting in his core behind his navel, then out through the meridians and channels to the rest of the body.
“If you focus you can feel them,” Mal told the boy. “Feel the warmth spreading along the lines like blood through your arteries. You’ll become familiar with them eventually. Mastering the flow and guiding it through your meridians will become important, but not for some time. Right now you need to focus on finding your Gates. A normal student would be looking to force their gates open, but for you the problem is actually the opposite. They’re already open, and you have no idea how to close them on your own. We don’t have time to teach you that tonight, certainly not for all fifteen gates. But you should be able to feel an eddy around the gates. Don’t push against the eddy! That’s your ki brushing against mine. If you push too hard it’ll break it open and you’ll start bleeding ki again. You have to know how to open and shut your gates before your ready for that.”
After thirty minutes of guided meditation, the boy seemed to have the hang of it. Rising, Mal moved to place a hand on the boy’s back as he continued to focus on the exercise, flexing long neglected senses to examine the boy’s control and internal flow.
“Good,” Mal praised. “Very good, although I shouldn’t have expected any less. You have ki in spades, and you’ve been controlling it unconsciously your entire life. Taking your First Steps along the path of the Adept is just about taking conscious control over what you’ve been doing unconsciously your entire life.”
Mal left it unsaid for now that if the boy couldn’t master conscious control, he’d likely bleed himself dry. The old soldier would have to watch the boy carefully over the next few days to make certain that he hadn’t burst one of the seals by accident.
“It feels strange,” the boy muttered.
“You’ll get used to it,” Mal informed him. With the boy focused on his exercise and facing away, he could only shake his head. The boy was only circulating ki, but the rivulets of power that were flowing inside the small body were already beyond anything that the old sergeant could muster. Perhaps a match for the strongest adapt in the company, and the boy had just Awakened. Not a match in a fight, of course. But strictly in terms of ki? The kid was a monster.
Yes, the Fates certainly had their strings in this kid.
“You’ve got it,” Mal said after they had been working for an hour. “I’m going to sleep. Keep exercising for an hour or so, then get some more rest. The guards will be by in the morning to question you. Do not cycle your ki in front of the captain! Just answer his questions as honestly as possible. As soon as he’s finished with you he should wash off that mark on your hand. I’ll see what I can do tomorrow about ending your slave contract and finding you an Orthodox Master.”
Baturya hardly stirred as the man retrieved the hooded lantern and climbed out of the cellar, leaving the boy behind. He was too busy mastering the new experience of controlling his inner power, unaware of just how seriously his mastery over it would impact his life.