The wind whipped at Typhos’s patchwork cloak as he picked his way across the forest floor of the Great Asundrian Pines. The toe of his weathered boots neither crunched leaf nor snapped twig, always finding footing of solid earth each step. It was not a conscious effort nor was it necessary today, here in the endless forest beneath a cold sun that had passed its zenith hours ago. The only other person for miles was right beside him. And that one was making plenty of noise trudging along.
Alder was broken, that much was plain. He would’ve been content making friends with the peeling walls back in that ramshackle cabin had Typhos not insisted it was time to eat something other than lentils for a change. He was a miserable sight. Alder’s clothes and skin were dirtied despite a few good washings, and his curled ginger hair was tangled and slicked with sweat and the elements.
Typhos stopped to crouch, examining the fallen caribou. An arrow jutted from its neck. He pulled it free, wiping the arrowhead with a cloth and replacing it in the quiver hanging off his shoulder. The creature had thrashed only once before stilling.
He gestured for Alder to sit. It would take some time to bleed the caribou. Ironic, to live the very cover story the Cathartes patrol had offered to Captain Fauke’s reconnaissance party. Of course, this far north, there were caribou. That man… he would have recieved no headstone, no rites, certainly no mourning. He had no name, and he was no one. That was the way of it. No sense sparing him a thought now.
As he worked, his idle mind wandered. Niya Samatkaeb and her brother Zaba had been reassigned inside the city at Typhos’s suggestion. He was frank with his master when he recounted the tale of his encounter with Lieutenant Vankka— there was something to the Samatkaeb woman, something he couldn’t place yet, but couldn’t deal with until after his requested leave of absence. In the end, Master Vega said Rigel could make better use of them for the time being, and could double as a gesture of cooperation between the two Elites.
He found it somewhat surprising how easily his master agreed to the leave of absence, barely prodding for a reason, only confused that Typhos actually had something he wanted to do his free time. As an Ace, Typhos did possess quite a bit of agency, but rarely did he exercise the fact. He managed to keep Alder’s presence secret, sequestered until he’d received permission to leave, with the stipulation that he must return by the morning of the twenty-first— a day before the attack— in perfect condition. He knew his master though, and the man would be burning with curiosity. If Niya had spoken privately of what she saw, she would not know more than a boy with Proximan or Altairan ginger hair. He had traveled north with no one the wiser as to his intentions.
There was one thing, though. He felt the Shadow’s presence again, the night they left Castitas. Not a moment since.
Typhos surveyed the caribou. After spinning the creature around to a face its neck to a downward incline, gravity had done most of the job. The grassy undergrowth stank of death, painted crimson. He gutted the carcass with a hunting knife and a practiced hand, then stood. He wiped the blade with a fresh cloth and called Alder over.
They each took hold of the creature, facing one another briefly. Alder could not bring himself to meet his eyes for long, either because of their coldness or color. Probably both. He’d long since become accustomed to that reaction. He could elicit it from the hardest of adults, clueless but tough men— all a far caw from a doe-eyed village boy who’d seen his bleak work up close.
Once they returned to the cabin, Typhos would prepare and cure the caribou for the last few days here and his trip back to Castitas. He did not expect to return with Alder, but there would be enough meat to account for that possibility. The remainder would serve as a gift for his fellow Cathartes, a small apology for burdening them with extra work. Very soon, that bloody work would be unceasing. Enough to make that incline running red seem a drop in an ocean.
“Before I brought you out here, I contacted my brother by letter to request his presence. His name is Luke.”
Alder said nothing.
“I do not believe he will come,” Typhos continued. “Luke is the type to run first and think later. So why has he not come? I will tell you. He is afraid. Not of my blade, but my words.”
Alder said nothing.
“I did not wish to burden you with the possibility for long. Still, I believe it is one’s right to know the circumstances of one’s own death.”
Alder said nothing. This time, he returned the silence with his own. Neither of them spoke another word on the way back.
———
Riding in the seat beside Daniels, Luke felt a bit better after the brief chat with the captain’s wife. Part of his tension was the uncertainty surrounding James. Was he still the same overprotective boy from back then, or had the empire changed him? Broken him? After recalling how strong his brother always was, long as he’d ever known him, those doubts has lessened.
The moon hung brightly, occasionally popping out between clouds. He was thankful for the new jacket. The air had grown colder as winter approached. The streets of a city as large as Ulciscor never truly emptied, but there were hardly any pedestrians and carriages about this late.
Daniels drove through the iron gate of the South Wall, passing and exchanging a few words with a half-plated lieutenant standing guard named Arston. The captain motioned him close and swore the man to secrecy, explaining that he would be back in a few days.
“The Walls do not spread secrets,” Arston quoted, fist to his chest. He bowed his head and smiled reassuringly. “And the Fourth has your back. I’m sure the Second don’t remember every face that passes through their gate. We can forget a person or two as well, eh? Have a safe journey, captain.”
Then they were off. The Walls remained visible between the tall trunks of the Pines as they joined up with the main southwestern road and took the northern route running along the western side of the city. Even the moon was asleep by the time Ulciscor vanished behind them and they entered the country of Mintaka proper.
Luke closed his eyes and tried to tune out the sound of the engine roaring and the tires rolling along an old horse trail. When he opened them again, the sky had changed color.
“Are we in the triangle?”
“Not yet,” Daniels said. “Don’t worry. We’re making good time. I’m taking us through a place called Little Verte.” He let out a great yawn. “I need a nap or I’m going to crash us into one of these clipping trees.”
A small part of Luke wanted to tell him to get over it and keep driving. He suppressed his impatience. Captain Daniels was putting a lot on the line for him already. No need to run the man ragged.
“Thanks,” Luke said, not for the first time.
“Save it. You made something a lot easier for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Whether or not to accept my promotion.” He snorted. “I’ll be lucky if they don’t court-martial me when we get back.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Luke froze. A promotion would mean…
“General Wolf wants you to become a major?” He squeezed his eyes shut. Fine, then. “Maybe you should head back after your nap. I’ll find someone else to take me to Cherima.”
“I wasn’t going to accept it anyway,” Daniels said. He gave Luke a wry smile. “The job’s not for me.”
The conversation petered out as it was made clear the captain had no intention of saying any more on the subject. He reassured Luke that he’d be fine after they returned and explained things to the general, and that was that.
They arrived at Little Verte soon after, a settlement that couldn’t quite be labeled as a village or a town. It was in good condition, considering how close they were to Altair. Its namesake came from the city of Verte a ways to the northeast, formerly the capital of Mintaka.
Daniels parked the automobile on the outskirts and grabbed some coins from a small compartment, then stepped outside and swung a strapped spear over his shoulder. He led Luke into an old but well-kept inn with a nameplate out front designating it as The Swan’s Grace.
The captain struck up a chat with the innkeeper, a friendly fellow with a belly almost as round as his spectacles and a thick mustache. Rumor of war was already beginning to spread, as it was the innkeeper to mention it first. Daniels introduced himself as Luke’s protective uncle taking him back to his parents in Verte in light of said rumors.
“Get yourself some breakfast,” Daniels said after he was handed a room key. He flicked a coin into the air with his thumb onto the innkeeper’s entryway desk. “You heard the room number? Good. I’ll leave it open. Wake me up at noon if I’m still asleep.”
“That all true, son?” the innkeeper asked as Luke approached, glancing back where Daniels had gone.
He held in a smirk as he confirmed the story and asked for a simple breakfast, bacon and eggs. Suffocatingly honest people like the captain made for poor liars. Strolling in with a big spear on his back like that would make anyone suspicious.
The food tasted divine compared to that hospital slop and a soldier’s ration Daniels had offered during the ride. The coin was enough to refill his plate. After indulging in such a nice meal, he rose from a chair in the dining area and made his way back to the front.
This was a good place. He’d been to a lot of inns and travel stops journeying from Aetas Origo to Ulciscor, and this was one of the best without a doubt. The Swan’s Grace in Little Verte. He’d have to try remembering this one.
Cyrus would like it here.
He asked the innkeeper the time— about an hour until noon— and decided this would be a good opportunity. He made his way outside and took a cleared path off the main road that led into the forest until he found a secluded grove of pines where he wouldn’t be disturbed.
It was time to figure out just what he was.
Luke took a deep breath. His ribs protested, lancing him with pain. He reached out with his mind, calling for Magenta. Light of that color coalesced in the center of his chest and moved instinctively to his wounds. The pain receded and he felt its peaceful touch. The pinkish light behaved strangely as before, casting no glow on the surroundings. It undulated gently around his ribs like the once-calm surface of a pool disturbed by a dipped toe to check its temperature.
He caught a glimpse of an oddity inside a nearby puddle of collected rainwater. A pair of distinct yellow orbs rested just behind his eyes, connected to his chest by thin, almost imperceptible strands. He flexed his mind like a muscle, feeling out…
There. He willed the Yellow to move, watching through the puddle as the tiny orbs slid from his vision, until he saw what others would see— nothing. It finally made sense. That was why it casted no glow. He felt the colors, the Yellow pulled toward his neck and the Magenta swirling softly around his wound, but he could no longer make anything out through his eyes. The color of sight, was it?
Luke released his grip on the two strands of Yellow and felt them shoot back into position behind the eyes like a stretched rubberband released. The other colors hadn’t ever reacted like that. Perhaps they had different behaviors from one another. Would it have hurt if he kept going? He blinked the color away and blinked again to call it back. That worked.
On to the next one. He held out his forearm in a defensive posture and willed a new color forth. Liquid blue light sprang from his chest and coiled around that forearm easily, as if it were a living thing that knew exactly what he wanted. Like the others, he held an innate sense of its purpose, and knew it to be the color of protection.
He stepped toward one of the pine trees. Next was—
A twinge in his ribs took him by surprise. The Magenta had left him for some reason. He called it back. Immediately, his Yellow-enhanced eyesight vanished. He distinctly felt the Blue in his arm and the Magenta around his wound, but he could no longer see anything out of the ordinary happening.
I can only hold two colors at once?
After some experimentation calling and dismissing colors— trying different combinations, pulling out only a smidgen of power— nothing worked. Each time, as soon as the third color was introduced, the oldest one vanished. He could get around that limitation by dismissing the newest color, then summoning the third color. No matter what he tried though, he couldn’t manage to hold on to three at once.
He scratched his cheek, and felt a bit of hair growing there. That’s right, he lost the razor old man Snare gave him back in Castitas… He loathed to admit it, but he wished the old man was here now. Snare would be able to make much better sense of these powers. Maybe he’d even know what it was— Luke couldn’t remember a time when Snare wasn’t able to answer one of his questions.
For now, he would settle with Yellow and Magenta. He wanted to figure out if channeling the colors for an extended period of time would tire him out in some way. As the thought crossed his mind, he stretched and yawned. He had been at this for quite a while. It was probably time to head back and wake up Daniels.
A flicker of something bright caught his eye, and he glanced up. A bird— a bunting, he thought— had nestled itself on a branch and was watching him, as if curious. The bunting held his gaze for a few seconds, then leapt away and flapped up, catching a breeze and gliding off.
In that brief moment of takeoff, the bunting had cloaked itself in Green, the color of stability. Luke stared after the bird in disbelief until it vanished over the trees.
———
“What is the meaning of this?” Seras demanded, pushing past a row of guards clustered in front of the South Wall. They wore pins on their uniforms marking them as the Southwest Wall. She didn’t recognize any of them. One said something to her and another laid a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged them both off.
This was to be the morning shift of her and her soldiers. Instead of a quiet handoff, there was a huge commotion, clerks and inspectors bustling about like bees. She stood dressed in silver and black, a spear at her back she was itching to pull on these overstepping fools. What wing-clipped nonsense was this?
As she forced her way through another line, the stench of blood and death hit her nose immediately. She caught sight of a field medic speaking with Major Vasran. The medic was shaking her head. Vasran’s face was grim. Standing beside them were Major Cade and Captain Velox.
Cordoned off nearby, she saw, were seven bodies strewn about as if they were beset by enemies in every direction. One of them was a man with steel-gray hair and iron eyes, closed forever. Lieutenant Arston.
Velox noticed her first and waved her over.
“Lieutenant Seras,” the captain said. “This morning’s a catastrophe, as you can see.” Velox saw the question in her eyes. “Arston and the others were attacked in the night.”
“By who? Cathartes?”
“We’re not so sure,” Cade said, stone-faced. “The gate is wedged open. The mechanism has been sabotaged. Our best inspectors have taken a look at the scene and have determined that the attackers took some of them from behind. Moreover, we can’t find Captain Daniels.”
Seras looked to Vasran, the South Wall’s own major. She had informed him yesterday privately of Daniels’s intentions at his own instruction. The largely-built man had been furious with Daniels but understanding of Seras’s own position in all this. That understanding had vanished from his expression, exchanged for a cold stare and a tight-lipped frown.
“I know what you told me before, lieutenant,” Vasran said. “I believe you’ve been played. We all have. I’ve known the man for the better part of a decade. I can’t think he’d…” He shook his head. “And yet, what other possibility is there? On the very night he forsakes the Guard for his personal business, this happens. What else is there to say?”
Thoughts tumbled through her head. She knew Daniels was innocent. That meant the true culprits were off the hook unless she convinced the majors that they were making a mistake. She needed to…
Seras slowly turned to face those around her— the majors, her captain, and several soldiers who had drawn close. Velox averted his eyes. Those who matched her gaze returned it with hostile looks. She was the captain’s closest confidant in the Guard, and it was no secret.
“Please remove your spear and step this way,” Cade said quietly.