Satern, Fir of Marla: 33 Xiven

As Kayin stared at the mystery woman and tried to memorize her face, she took the time to examine the surroundings: hurt kid, clinging to newly earned life, as a random man padded his wound with a bloody and expensive dress jacket. She squinted in the dark with them, then raised her open palm toward the lamp, igniting it instantly.

Now, Kayin could see the freckles on her nose, the dark amber color of her eyes that matched the flame that stoked the wick of the streetlight.

Her eyes drifted to the shining, red puddle on the floor. Streaks tapered to the west, an obvious trail of bloody feet and droplets from escaping people.

The woman said, “I’ll see if I can track them. Invisible or not, you got her and she’s clearly bleeding. Meet you back at the house.” And just as quickly as she appeared, she stuck to the shadows, ran nearly silently, and zig-zagged her way down the streets in the dark points of the street lights.

Karsarath still stared where she ran when he asked, “Who’s that?”

“I—I think….” Kayin stared, too, but remained in the silence for a bit longer. “I’m not sure, but I think it’s Fero. We’re living in her house.” Karsarath must have thought he was joking or delirious, because he didn’t address this thought. Instead, he returned the empty potion bottle to one of Kayin’s pockets, and pressed the jacket directly into the wound.

“Hopefully she finds him, whoever she is,” Karsarath said after a full minute of tense stillness. He kept looking to the alleyways, to neighboring roads, as if she would appear. But the night remained silent on this part of the tower, with only the distant clinks of toasting glasses, laughter at poor jokes, and music of a party to keep them company.

“Alright, well, we should get to your house, at the least. We can wait for—we can wait for Dhekk there.”

The lightheadedness hit Kayin far before Karsarath helped him to his feet. He watched Karsarath attempt to adjust Kayin’s jacket, to hide the blood as much as possible, and slumped himself over Karsarath’s shoulders to let the man take the burden of movement.

“So much to eat, so much to drink, I can’t believe you spilled so much all over yourself!” Karsarath kept saying through a tight smile whenever they passed a crowd. It was as if Kayin watched from above, the way they navigated the methodical roads of Tornah.

It wasn’t the wound that made him lose feeling in his limbs. It wasn’t the sudden attack or the stress that brought nausea to his stomach when they finally reached the stairs that led up to 870521 Vidridian. It was the fact that Kayin clutched the key tightly in his hand, the feeling he now desperately tried to memorize of Dhekk putting it in his pocket before the gala.

Karsarath wordlessly pried the key out of Kayin’s clammy hand and led them inside with the quiet click of the door shutting, and when he helped himself to slump at the dining table, Karsarath stood on another chair to reach the chandelier with a match to light the candles on it.

“She won’t find Dhekk,” Kayin finally said when Karsarath sat down across from him.

“Don’t say that—”

“I didn’t put a health potion in my pocket,” Kayin blurted. He pulled his jacket away from the open slice on his chest. It had scabbed over completely; some of the threads pulled at his healing skin, threatening to make the wound burst again. “And I saw Xiven.” Well, he thought so, anyway. He was pretty sure. “And Fero was watching us, waiting for this….”

Maybe if Kayin were in Karsarath’s place, he would have reacted the same: A skeptical, raised brow, a forced smile. The man sighed, and rose again from the table to head to the kitchen.

“Let’s get you something to eat,” he suggested instead of addressing Kayin’s words.

“Why else would Dhekk give me the key?”

“Because you live here, Kayin—”

“Karsarath, he put a health potion in my pocket without me knowing!” Yelling that certainty stopped his friend from opening and closing cupboards of food Dhekk forced Kayin to finish earlier today. All that was left as far as rations, was approximately a day’s worth of leftover root vegetables in the final cupboard, enough to get Kayin through a meal before going to the store to get more food.

Karsarath hesitated, his hands still raised, looking for work, as he considered Kayin’s words.

“You think he knew this was the outcome?” Kayin nodded to his question. Karsarath deflated; and it made sense, to think of a selfless outcome from someone who he didn’t like, was improbable. “A-and what about—what’s her name, Fero? She said this is her house….”

“Because it is,” came the familiar voice from the doorway. The woman in blue shut the door noiselessly behind her. Now, Kayin realized, that not only was this woman a criminal, but a talented criminal. How did she never make an unintended noise?

Notably, the woman, though winded, was alone. As she wiped some sweat from her face, the woman strode into her home, and took a seat beside Kayin to take in a deep, troubled breath.

“They have Dhekk. And, I’m sorry—but I couldn’t leave city limits without being seen—I can’t be sure if he’s…well, alive.” She paused for only a moment before she pointed to Karsarath in the kitchen. “Sorry, but you weren’t in the briefing. Who’re you?”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Briefing,” Karsarath echoed.

“That’s Karsarath,” said Kayin with a loose gesture. “He’s a friend.”

“I see that, but it’s still strange.” Fero shrugged. “I guess our time was cut short….”

“I’m sorry,” Karsarath interrupted before Fero could continue. He shook his head, approached the dining table, but didn’t sit down. He stared at the woman as he white-knuckled the back of the chair, interrogating her. His voice took on a strength, an authority that Kayin hadn’t actually heard before. “Who—who are you? And why should we trust a thing you say?” He straightened his back, even put a hand on the hilt of his stowed sword. “How do we know you’re not some agent here for malicious purposes?”

This moment felt very long for Kayin, very foreign. Both Karsarath and Fero looked at him, confused, looking for direction. From him! Hardly even an adult, ten years their junior easily, healing from a gash from a sword and with undoubtedly even less worldly knowledge than them, less skill in every aspect—

“I don’t think I actually know what’s happening,” Kayin said instead. At least from healing from his gash, though not perfect, was enough to keep his wits about him. “But Karsarath’s a friend, and Dhekk mentioned a Fero once, and that’s all I know.” Karsarath squinted at his explanation, but Fero recoiled.

“Tidesa didn’t mention me? Not even once?”

Now, Kayin sighed of relief, and gave a nod to Karsarath. “Fero’s definitely a friend. Even if she’s a criminal.”

Fero, though, opened and closed her mouth several times, even went as far as raising a finger, before she leaned into the back of her chair and crossed her arms.

“That’s a reductive term,” was all she said.

“Tidesa,” Karsarath echoed with a flat tone. “That supposed Namuh of the Future.”

Fero’s eyes flashed; for a moment, from a dark crimson to a bright red. With a lower tone, she said, “You have a problem with Tidesa, you have a problem with me.”

“Calm down.” Kayin waved his hands at both of them, letting his bloody jacket slack to the floor. “Karsarath hasn’t met her, he just joined in on this because….” Kayin trailed off. That was maybe a conversation for those two to have some other time. “Fero, could you—could you please tell us how you know Tidesa? Why we’re in your house? How you know of me and Dhekk?” Then, before she could answer he added, “and why you were following us?”

“Following—?”

Fero interrupted Karsarath, “Tidesa’s my friend. She asked me for this space for you and Dhekk to prepare for this gala. That’s—kind of the gist.” She shrugged. “Known her for….” She puffed some air into the chandelier. “I guess it’s close to ten or eleven years. Something like that. We met by accident, really.” At the distant memory, Fero smiled. “Ran into each other in the market in the Tornah Docks. Like, literally, ran into each other.” That sounded like Tidesa, attaching herself to a promising future she saw.

Fero continued, “I tried to—well, she was really observant, and really kind. Bought me some food, and…. She was really, randomly compassionate at a time in my life when I really needed it.” The light in her face, the genuine joy at the thoughts, made Kayin smile, too. “She had a vision, really. She said she saw a really bright future—not immediately, but maybe for the next generation. Gave me some hope. Honestly, she helped me kind of get a leg up in the world. I’d do anything for her.” Fero brought her attention back to Kayin, the dimples by her lips faded, but still lingering like ghosts. “And a few years ago, she visited. Told me about you, asked for help. So I agreed. Stocked up some supplies for you, made a bit of extra coin, gave her my house key about two months ago, and made myself scarce in preparation for tonight.”

Karsarath unceremoniously clattering into the chair across from Fero drew their attention. The way he slumped, dumbfounded, skeptical, but attentive, was quite loud compared to Fero’s silent nature.

“You’re saying,” he started with a flat tone, “that some lady came up to you and asked for your house key and you just…gave up where you live…?”

Fero rolled her eyes, but Kayin hesitated on his words.

“Can you—can you tell me when Tidesa told you about me? About when she told you—asked you for help?” The woman raised a brow, but shrugged.

“Probably not exactly. Years ago, really.”

Distantly, though his fingers tingled at the awful memory, Kayin asked, “Four years ago? During the Sow Season?”

Fero pursed her lips, but eventually nodded. “That sounds right. It was raining that day, and she was in a rush. She’d just gotten in, but left almost immediately after I agreed to help.”

Despite himself, Kayin deflated, and gave a sad look to Karsarath, knowing—though defeated.

“What?”

“That assassin,” Kayin explained, “the one that came after me and ran away tonight?” He could tell, just by Karsarath’s widening eyes that he put the pieces together before they were brought to him, “Tidesa couldn’t save me from her because she was visiting to Fero.” Before Fero could even ask, Kayin started, “Tidesa left—ah….” Through his long, drawn-out sigh, a few distant thoughts started to connect. “Years ago, I thought—I mean, I—” Now he hesitated. He didn’t exactly explain to Karsarath what he’d done in the past to warrant Patrolman Ruyer to be his assigned guard. Kayin always assumed that Tidesa gave him a guard as a babysitter because of his cruel behavior toward the Crown Princess of Yatora, but now…now that he thought of the familiar face, things started to click. Ruyer was the only possible interception to that assassin’s blade.

“Years ago,” Kayin started again as he stared at the center of the table, “I—um, thought I saw that—that assassin, just randomly. I told Tidesa, and she assigned a guard to me. I thought I was being punished, but immediately after, she left.” He now looked up to Fero, who stared with such an intense concentration he could practically see her assumptions scroll through her eyes. “She left, and then there was a—a gala. And at that gala, that same assassin showed up and killed my guard. She framed me. I was put in—uh—jail, because she disappeared, and in Yatora, Cigam doesn’t exist, and Tidesa just—kept me there. And I—I didn’t really know why…until…I guess now.” Despite their initial hostility, both Karsarath and Fero retreated into themselves, deep in thought, their gazes focusing more on Kayin than one another. “Tidesa was seeing you at that time to prepare for tonight,” he continued, looking to Fero. “And—and…that night, I was….” Now his words faded from his tongue. His fingernails scratched at the grain of the table, struggling to cling to this moment rather than the heightened fear of before.

“I—I didn’t know,” Fero admitted quietly. “I’m sorry you had to go through that to—to get to this point.”

Her words seemed to lower Karsarath’s defenses as well. Though the man’s fleeting glances at Fero seemed uncertain and insecure, he looked at Kayin with an intensity all too familiar. He asked, “And now? Do we know what happens now?”

Kayin’s throat tightened.

Fero stared at the grain of the wood Kayin now scratched, though she didn’t seem to register the destruction he now bade on the table. Or care, for that matter.

“That was the last clear vision Tidesa saw,” she said as she looked up to Kayin, “before she went to get you.” The trio sucked in the icy realization of the moment, exchanging wary, skeptical glances.

“We—we don’t know what we’re doing next?” Karsarath asked in a hallow voice.

Kayin sank into his chair, fingertips tracing the scarring scab on his chest through the torn fabric he wore.

“Well…,” he started, “at least we know what Xiven looks like.”