Thern, Fir of Febla: 33 Xiven
“Heard ’bout ya,” Merna’s father continued. Kayin stayed frozen in place, half shocked from being compelled to eat against his will, half terrified of what would happen next. “Merna, ya hear ’bout it? This lot walked right on up to the King, he said, ‘I’m an idiot’, and ran into a sword.” Halberd. But the rest was right.
“Why?” Merna asked with a wrinkled nose. “Are Yatorans stupid as well as nothin’-havers?” Cigam, Kayin realized as Merna and her father exchanged glances. They had Cigam. Nothing-havers were people that didn’t have it. Like him.
“Well, try again, Merna. Get Tae t’ stay put. I’m gunna go see if I still have a weapon.” Just as the man stood, Kayin scrambled back in his chair, pushing away from the table to try and back away.
“Sit down!” Merna shouted with an impressive force. Kayin did hesitate—though it was difficult to tell if this was because she was practicing her Cigam to manipulate him, or if in his confusion and terror, it was easier to obey.
Merna managed to grab his arm as he fell backward, repeating her command over and over again while her father fumbled with a door across the room. Amongst the chaos, clattering of the chair falling over, of Merna’s father struggling with a stuck door to a closet, Merna’s voice sounded the clearest.
“Sit down!” she commanded, pulling his arm. Her fingers, cold and sudden shocked him into staring at her. When she repeated herself, Kayin remained in his half-crouched position, one hand on the table to push away. “I said to stay put!” And he did. He wanted to look at what her father was doing, to run to the front door and get out, but he stayed.
Weirder than his body listening to her commands, was his mind’s submission as well. His coherent thoughts were reserved for thinking of how best to “stay put” the way she asked him to, while only his distorted, distant feelings urged him to turn around.
Vinctesprit, he remembered as he lowered himself to right the chair at her request. A Vinctesprit was a person with Cigam that could control the will of a beast. The stories he’d read when he shut himself in his room at the Yatora castle always featured a person using this to speak to an animal companion, to tell a dog to hunt or a horse to return home. When Merna told him to, Kayin lowered himself into the chair again. In those stories, those that used this Cigam to manipulate other people were vilified; they were people that considered others lesser: beasts. Taking the will of an equal was reprehensible. Taking the will of an animal or prisoner was fine.
As Kayin stared at Merna, memorizing her sharp nose, her thick brows and intense gaze, his stomach rolled, uneasy. Vaguely, in his peripherals, Kayin noticed her father return, just to the side. The man said something, but it wasn’t until Merna repeated it did the words actually sink in.
“Tell me: are you from Yatora?” she asked. Kayin nodded, despite a small voice in the back of his head that begged him to remain still. “Are you a soldier?” He shook his head. His toes tingled, willing him to dive away. Merna’s confusion brought a sinking feeling to his chest. Somehow, as he blinked slowly, Kayin managed to keep his eyes closed.
“Merna, c’mon. Keep trying,” he heard her father say. He sounded so far away, despite being right there. Kayin squeezed his eyes shut tighter, though that was as much as he was allowed to disobey.
“Open your eyes!” Merna shouted. Kayin grit his teeth, biting right down onto his tongue. The rust, the zap of pain, was enough of a distraction to bring his own thoughts to the forefront of his mind.
Run was the only thing he could think clearly. Without opening his eyes, Kayin threw himself to the side, onto the floor, as far as he could manage. Merna and her father both shouted over one another, confusing the commands and allowing Kayin an extra moment to scramble closer to the door on his hands and knees.
Just as Merna’s voice shouted another tempting command, a sharp, stinging sensation cracked across Kayin’s back with the crisp sound of a crack, thin and sudden.
“—for th’ horse?” Merna gasped.
“It’s all I got!”
“It’ll look like we tortured him—!”
“The flier said dead or alive!”
From their bickering, from the pain of his back, his bones, his tongue, Kayin managed to crawl further away with his eyes focused on the sturdy wooden door to L4 Kond, just south of the Street of Darly. When Merna and her father began shouting at him to stay, to return to his chair, Kayin dug his nails into the wooden floor. Splinters stabbed under his fingernails, further gripping him to his own thoughts.
Somehow, he’d managed to grasp the handle of the door to pull himself up, throwing the door open. Another crack by his head sent a fresh rush of adrenaline through his veins just as the cold air of the morning rushed in.
Rinesa bathed the cobblestone street in a bright ray of hazy light. This area was wide, spread out like the village huts in Yatora, but instead of small rooms were wooden homes much like the one he tried to escape from now. Just head, by another home’s front door, was a set of guards in leather armor with the fleur-de-lis Kayin dreaded to see. At the sound of another crack of the whip, the two turned around, spotting Kayin.
No time to think. Kayin dashed toward the rising sun, stumbling a bit, but focused all of his energy into getting his legs to move. More shouts from voices of people that sounded like they spoke with their mouth full of mushy food. Any sense of secrecy or stealth was far away, now; Kayin’s feet slapped the stone with a urgent force he hadn’t felt since he tried to run from a peka five years ago.
He ran, ignoring the homes of people that opened the doors and windows to see what the shouting was all about. He aimed toward a wooden fence that outlined the neighborhood, an obstacle he hoped to climb faster than the half a dozen people pursuing him.
Kayin’s limbs wavered. His lungs burned from the short distance, his legs screaming in agony, back stinging, but he push forward, leaping to try and grab the top of the fence. His fingers dug deep into the groves, his bare feet sliding against the slats as he willed himself to pull himself up.
Something sharp stabbed at his fingers; when he looked up, a gerrie perched on the fence, pecking at him.
“Take ’is fingas off!” shouted one of the guards that pursued him. Kayin sucked in a breath, braced against the pain, and forced his arms to carry his weight up and over the fence. His shins jolted from his sudden landing on the other side, sticks and dry leaves prickling at the bottom of his feet.
The gerrie followed him, diving at his head even though he waved his arms wildly. With no other options, Kayin pushed against the wall and sprinted straight between two large, manicured trees. Soft, rotten fungus cushioned some of his strides. The gerrie lost him at some point, or maybe grew tied of listening to commands from another.
He couldn’t tell if he was the only one disturbing the sounds of the forest, his arms shoving away branches that whipped at his face, his feet kicking through tangled roots and loose fungus.
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He desperately hoped, prayed, that he was alone. His leg buckled underneath him, and Kayin collapsed as he clutched onto the stalk of a mushroom, cushioning his fall to the forest floor. He tried to keep his breathing even, quiet, so he could listen for anyone that might have followed him, but he wheezed and coughed too much to know for sure.
Eyes burning, Kayin kept his head on a swivel, searching for any person or edia or gerrie that didn’t belong. Aside from a few crawling bugs on the tree nearest, all grew still.
His bones could all be broken, and Kayin would be unsurprised. The way they ached, pulsated with every beat of his heart was almost unbearable. Tensing or relaxing his muscles did nothing, offered no relief. Sitting here was just as painful as running. Breathing like this, trying to take a rest, felt just as laborious. The adrenaline wasn’t enough. The threat of capture wasn’t enough. He’d spent every moment of energy, every emergency reserve that wasn’t completely sapped from fighting the poison in his system.
Sweat dripped down his brow, cold and unrelated to his run. Again, invasive thoughts of Dania’s father took over his mind. How long did he live after being poisoned? How long did he have?
Maybe not long. Especially not if he gave into the utter exhaustion that washed over him like a small wake on the river. But the only thing to remain alert after a few moments were his thoughts of fear; everything else failed him.
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Frirn, Fir of Febla: 33 Xiven
The absence of pain might have been what awoke Kayin this time. Relief. Just exhaustion, not throbbing. His sigh felt final, like the ending of something.
“There we go.” Dhekk. The sound of a familiar voice further soothed Kayin’s muscles into relaxation. He grunted as an indication he was awake, but didn’t move otherwise. “Nope, come on. Not time to rest.” Dhekk didn’t react to Kayin’s grunts of protest, instead grabbed his arms and started to pull him up.
Kayin felt his feet touch the dead leaves on the forest floor before he even bothered to open his eyes. Dhekk still held onto him, steadying him. The man had a sword and its sheath tied to his hip, and wore fresh cotton clothes over his leather armor. He pulled Kayin, bit by bit, into a steady and quick walk; he kept his hold, steering them through tangled trees and mushrooms.
Kayin’s mind took its time to come back to life, though. Like he waded through muck. Without the pain, the exhaustion was minorly more bearable.
“You get captured?” Dhekk asked. After a few more steps, he released Kayin to let him walk on his own. Thankfully, his legs were steady, only a little sore, and he could keep up just fine.
“They didn’t know who I was,” Kayin answered. He cast a glance over his shoulder, but couldn’t see any sign of Wakino.
“There are posters with your face on them now,” Dhekk said. He sounded almost—amused?
“That’s how they figured out who I was, when I ran.” This pathway didn’t make much sense. They weren’t following a road, it seemed almost random. If it weren’t for the placement of the rising sun, Kayin would have no idea where they were going. “How did you find me?”
“Took a while,” Dhekk admitted with a sigh. “But I followed the commotion, planted some false trails, and took over where the guards searched. Glad I thought to stop by my place to get the antidote first, or I’d have to carry you—and gotta say, not sure if you had that much time left.” Hearing someone confirm the fear out loud made Kayin’s blood run cold.
“Oh,” was all he could manage to say. Though the rays of the sun burned brighter, now, with less haze despite it being in near the same spot. “How—how long, do you know, was I out?”
Dhekk shrugged. “Commotion started yesterday, and I was out all night running the perimeter. ’Course you were in the last possible place.” Though Kayin couldn’t see his face, he could tell Dhekk rolled his eyes. “Started just south of you when Tidesa came by and said you were missing.”
“She couldn’t just predict where I was?”
Dhekk’s shoulders grew rigid, his steps more careful. Perhaps among the dead leaves and roots, Kayin stepped on a nerve. He opted to remain silent for the rest of their walk, which took maybe about an hour until Kayin noticed any sort of different setting.
The trees gave way to a very small clearing, to a stout hut not unlike the ones Kayin was used to from the Yatora village. This structure, though, was sturdier, more permanent, made of wooden walls rather than bundles of woven sticks.
“Home sweet home,” Dhekk muttered when they’d approached the front door. The hunk of scrappy metal that hung off the side shaped itself into a door knob upon his touch: a handy anti-theft device, in Kayin’s opinion.
“Quite the lock,” Kayin said. Dhekk didn’t reply, just pushed through the door and welcomed Kayin inside.
Bookshelf, sofa, table with two chairs under the only window. A curtain hid a third of the hut from view, probably Dhekk’s bed. Simple.
Everything had a place. Wooden bowls and spoons made their home on the top shelf, with a block full of carving knives. Only one chair remained pulled out, while the other remained tucked under the table, bleached from the sun and dusty.
“Alright,” Dhekk started as he approached a chest by the door they just entered. Using the same trick he did to open his front door, he dug into the chest and began to pull out fresh bandages, and a few familiar herbs with a mortar and pestle. “You know how to make healing potions?”
“Yes,” Kayin answered as he accepted the materials.
“Go ahead and make as much as the supplies with allow. Drink one, just for good measure, but fill what bottles you can.” As Kayin made his way to the dining table to set everything down, Dhekk followed with clinking glass bottles. “I’m going to leave you here and check on some jerky I’ve got curing, check my food supplies. Don’t die while I’m gone.” Kayin nodded, and reached for the tucked-in chair to pull it out. “And don’t sit there. Don’t touch that chair.” He recoiled, staring at Dhekk. “And don’t touch the books. Actually, don’t touch anything.” Dhekk’s eyes jogged around his home, analyzing everything as Kayin waited for more instructions.
“Um, how long will you be gone?” Kayin asked. Tentatively, he lowered himself into the chair Dhekk already had pulled out. So far, he wasn’t yelled at for that.
“An hour, probably. I have a few reserves to check.”
“These won’t take an hour to make,” Kayin said as he gestured to the supplies. “There’s enough for, like, three or four potions. It’ll take me minutes.” Dhekk hummed as he glanced around his home.
“Well,” he said as he approached the curtain, “I guess you can sleep.” He drew the curtain back to show a bed nearly as big as the one Kayin slept in when he was in the castle of Yatora. “But sleep on that side. Don’t touch that side.” It was obvious what he meant. On the left side of the bed was a perfectly plump, un-dimpled pillow and undisturbed blankets. The right side kind of looked like someone tried to pretend to be a wind storm in their sleep, with how askew everything was.
“Okay,” Kayin said quietly. And, just like that, Dhekk spun around and walked out the door. A small flash of light through the crack let Kayin know that Dhekk disfigured the door knob again on his way.
Instead of making the potions straight away, Kayin rose from the chair to explore Dhekk’s home. So much was packed into every corner, organized and precise. The books that populated the shelves were neglected; dusty, no hint of ever been touched aside from the worn edges and bindings. Books on plant life, fantasy stories about doomed romances and distant dreams. None of this really screamed “Dhekk.”
Kayin turned away from the bookshelf and instead returned to the open chest to glance at what other supplies could be in there.
This chest was used often, it seemed. Compartments for herbalism supplies stained with berry juices and spice remnants. The other side contained folded leather armor, shoes, Above the chest, a well-worn rack of swords and daggers, twine and hooks for traps. No dust here.
Initially, Kayin maybe thought that Dhekk hadn’t been here in a while. But with fresh mushrooms and root vegetables in a basket by the sofa, that didn’t seem to be the case. Half the dishes on the top shelf were still a little wet from being washed somewhere nearby, and upon looking out the window, he could spot a rope running from one treetop to another, holding clothes. The drying line was quite far off the ground, which meant that Dhekk had to literally climb a tree to do his laundry, but that sort of paranoia made sense, combined with everything else in this hut.
The melancholy silence that settled into the air felt…old. Even after Kayin finished making the potions, cleaned up his mess, and retreated to the tousled half of the bed, the heaviness in the air only grew.
Each half of the bed sagged the same, proof that each side had been used just as often.
From lying down on the soft pillow, Kayin could see the dining chair he wasn’t allowed to touch. The light from the window shone at an angle that highlighted groves in the floor behind the legs, groves worn in from dragging a chair in and out of the same place over and over again.
Kayin flipped over in the bed, to stare at the other side of it. Everywhere he looked in this place, there were whole segments frozen in time. A small chest on this side of the curtain, closed but without Dhekk’s signature handle-distortion used for the others in the hut. A dusty chair, books that at one point had been read and loved. An entire set of eating utensils abandoned through time.
This hut, despite proof that Dhekk had lived in it for quite some time, felt more abandoned for his presence than for the dust.