Taming the Elements: Elwin Escari Chronicles: Volume 1 (27 page)

The smoke had a sour smell, like burning ale. But, Wilton didn’t need the odd smell to tell him the clouds surrounding the gathering hadn’t come from a legal leaf like sweetweed. Only men japed-up on dragon tail or wyvern juice, dueled with rotten fish in place of swords. Though he gave the gathering a wide berth, Wilton studied the people as he walked by.

The women wore dresses cut to reveal enough bosom and leg to wonder why they bothered to wear anything at all. Most of the men wore tattered tunics, stained from wear. A few wore roped sandals and trousers, tight about the waist and ankles but baggy around the legs. Those men wore no shirts and had ink tattooed into their flesh. The tattoos varied from scripts in a foreign tongue on arms, chests, and backs to swords or beasts of other lands.

Sailors, Wilton guessed.

One of the dueling men had the tattoo of a black, serpentine creature with outstretched wings. Its long tail wrapped around the man’s right arm, and the head rested on the left shoulder, blowing a spout of red-orange fire, down his arm.

A dragon.

Few decent men would have openly worn a dragon. No decent man would have permanently scribed a dragon into his flesh. Then again, no decent man would have smoked dragon tail or drunk wyvern juice.

Wilton almost laughed. As if he was an authority on decency. He may not wear a sign welcoming the Awakening to destroy the world, but he could no longer consider himself decent. He passed the japed-up brawl, watching the crowd from his periphery.

Upon seeing Wilton and his raqii dath, a couple of the men hid their pipes. One man emptied his pipe on the heel of his boot.

Wilton did not slow. He strode past them into the comfort of the dark alley next to the Ravenous Fray. His eyes took only a moment to readjust. The light from the tavern had been too deluded to damage his night vision.

He moved down the alley to the road, emerging onto a street with no lanterns that pitched him into utter darkness. On light feet, he ran in the center of the road, moving east. He entered another random alley, crossed to another road and turned north. He never stopped moving as he crossed dark roads and darker alleys, until he came to a road with a lamp.

Rather than moving up the road, he crossed the street to another alley.

Movement at the end of the path pulled his attention. A large man carrying a cudgel lumbered toward Wilton. At this distance, he couldn’t determine if his size was due to muscle or portly girth. His overcloak made it impossible to determine. Either way, the width of the alley would be just large enough for Wilton to squeeze by the man. Whether fat or muscle padded his cloak, close quarters would allow the man to use his size to the advantage.

Glancing behind him, Wilton saw he had already halfway committed to the path. If this was an ambush, there would be someone blocking his retreat. The roof was too high to make efficient use of arrows, but not so high as to prevent dropping from rope into the alley. If it was not an ambush, then a retreat would place his sole attacker at his back.

Through him, then.

Wilton stopped walking and shifted the bulk of his weight to his rear leg, while placing his right hand across his chest. His left forearm rested on the hilt of his left blade. From this position, he could quickly draw both blades and assume any form.

The man still advanced.

“I do not wish to harm you,” Wilton said, “but if you take another step, it will be your last.”

The man stopped, but his head made a subtle shift toward the roofline.

Not alone, then.

Wilton’s swords marked him as a thief-catcher. Not speaking the language of the Children of Nature, he wasn’t sure what the words meant, but the blades were called raqii dath and were the style of the Chai Tu Naruo. When not at war, the twin blades of his profession would prowl these streets in search of known criminals. Any person who carried the blades had an understood reputation. Even the most foolish of criminals would bring larger numbers for an ambush.

Part of training as a thief-catcher had forced Wilton to prowl the streets before he left for the northern isles. He had likely made a few enemies during that short time, but being his first night back and the nature of his unofficial mission, he doubted anyone had planned this ambush for him.

Besides, he would have noticed any movement trailing him for an ambush.

He must have wandered into a known criminal’s domain. Which meant if there was one man on the roof, there were half a dozen. Probably waiting for a victim, rather than planning for one.

“And tell your friends on the roof,” Wilton said, “the same goes for them. Any man who moves against me will draw his last breath. Last warning, drop your weapon and move aside. I am not here to make examples, but I will do what I must.”

The man stood watching the roofline. After a moment, he dropped his cudgel and stepped to the right side. It was a muscular form hidden by his overcoat. The loose fit made him appear less honed at a distance, but seeing him up close made his size clear. The man was a bruiser.

He did not make eye contact with Wilton, and he kept glancing at the roofline, likely waiting for a change in orders. Wilton stopped next to the man and thumbed the blade on the right side.

“Look at me,” Wilton said.

It took obvious effort for him to look away from the roof, but his eyes were wide and alert as they regarded Wilton.

“You realize that had you attacked me, you would have been the first to die?”

The man gave him a flat gaze. His left hand was held out of Wilton’s sight, behind the bruiser’s leg. If the man gave the slightest movement with that shoulder, Wilton was ready to intercept any hidden dagger with his right blade. He would slice the man at his wrist with an upward blow and the edge of his blades would continue upward to the man’s throat.

“I was raised in a small, farming community,” Wilton said. “One summer, a wolf appeared from the forest nearby. It was killing sheep and cattle, and it had to be stopped. One of the farmers, a man named Drenen, devised a plan for catching the wolf. He used a rabbit for bait. In the end, they captured and killed the wolf.”

Wilton leaned closer to the man and lowered his voice, “But, do you know what happened to the rabbit?”

The man shook his head. Wilton stared at the man for several seconds. He began to shift back and forth, and the bruiser didn’t blink or look a way. Sweat began to appear on the man’s forehead.

Wilton spoke in a soft voice. “Before springing the trap, the wolf bit the rabbit’s neck with such force that its neck snapped, nearly severing the head. I was young, but I learned a valuable lesson that day.” Wilton glanced at the man’s concealed hand and back to the bruiser’s eyes. “The proper bait may catch a predator, but the bait is unlikely to survive. In the end the wolf went down, but how much do you think that mattered to the rabbit?”

Wilton thumbed the hilts of his raqii dath, pulling the bruiser’s gaze to the blades. His eyes widened and the sound of metal clanked onto the cobblestones at the man’s feet. A small dagger glinted in the moonlight. The bruiser held his hands up in a show of surrender and glanced to the roofline, giving a slight shake of his head.

Stepping up next to the man, Wilton said, “Perhaps you would be wise to change your profession.”

He walked by, watching for movement in his periphery. The man stood rigid, keeping his hands out in front of him. As Wilton exited the alley, he heard heavy footsteps running in the opposite direction.

Wilton continued his course, moving north and east, but for several streets, most of his attention watched for signs of pursuit. When none came, he allowed himself to relax somewhat. As much as anyone should relax in the Commons at night.

Wilton felt a half-smile make its way to his lips.

The story he had told the man was true. His father had purchased the wolf skin from Drenen Escari. It was still in front of the hearth at his father’s home. When they were young, he and Feffer would sit on the rug by the fire and listen to their father’s stories.

The smile faded.

His fondest memories as a child had been sitting on the carcass of a predator. It seemed like there could be a lesson in all of this somewhere. As he reached the darkened building in the farthest corner of Justice, it came to him.

Sometimes it was better to be seen as a rabbit than a wolf, but whatever it took, don’t be someone’s bait.

Chapter 14

Haven

The light pounded against Feffer’s eyes and face with each step of his horse. Every clank of the sword at his side felt like a hammer on an anvil inside his skull. What coin he had saved in drink the previous night, he had spent on the horse. His head had been too sore to barter a better deal with the thieving stableman. But the dapple mare was his.

He would have to give her a proper name.

Just not today …

Thinking, moving, or breathing was painful. But worst of all was the cursed light.

He squinted against the noonday sun. Wilton was just ten paces ahead of him, heading east toward Benedict. It took several days by horse, but it was better than walking it for a tenday. Feffer covered his eyes, leaving just a slit in his fingers. He looked up and around for Elwin and shivered when he thought about what his friend was doing.

But, Elwin was not in sight.

“I am sure he can see us,” Wilton said.

His brother had stopped. Feffer only realized it because he had spoken. Had Wilton not said anything, he would have passed him.

Feffer pulled on the bridle to stop his mare and closed his eyes.

“Are you alright, Feffer?”

Feffer groaned, “I am never drinking again.”

Wilton’s laugh didn’t seem quite so forced. “I have made that claim a time or two. Well, hop down. Let’s break for lunch.”

Feffer leaned forward on his mare and slid from the saddle, still hanging onto the pommel. That and the saddle bags had cost almost as much as the horse. He really did get robbed.

Wilton guided his horse to a small tree just off the road. Feffer followed him and tied his mare off next to Wilton’s. His horse was mostly white with speckles of black around the ears, while Wilton’s was mostly black with speckles of white on the nose.

“Here,” Wilton offered him a waterskin. “This will make you feel better.”

Feffer took the skin and eased down to the grass next to the road. He took several large gulps before noticing Elwin several dozen paces above him. He choked off a drink and stared at his friend. Elwin’s head faced the ground and his eyes squinted with his hands held tightly to his sides. It took Feffer a moment to realize Elwin wasn’t slowing down.

“What in the abyss?” Feffer said.

A rush of air gushed around Feffer as he rolled to the side. A pace above him, Elwin hovered in the air with a full-toothed smile painted on his face. Feffer felt a steady breeze as white embers of light appeared and disappeared around Elwin.

Feffer forced the awe from his face and threw the waterskin at him. “What in the abyss is wrong with you?”

Elwin caught the waterskin, laughing. “I was just having a bit of fun. Now we’re even.”

“For what?”

He eased to the ground as if by some invisible hand. The breeze and lights vanished when Elwin’s feet were firmly planted on the ground. Feffer suppressed a shiver.

“If I remember correctly,” Elwin said, “I owed you from dumping water on my head.”

The excitement was passed, but Feffer’s heart still raced. Each beat felt like a hammer branding the inside of his skull. He thought he might lose his stomach.

“That was a
year
ago,” he said as he massaged his temples. “
And
, I don’t do that sort of thing anymore.”

“Well then, I guess we are even for good.”

“Eat up,” Wilton said, then gave them both some dried bread.

Elwin and Wilton sat across from Feffer and began to munch on their lunch.

Feffer tongued the dried bread until he could swallow it. He
closed his eyes and pretended the dried crumbs to be Mrs. Escari’s famous pastries. Maybe she would have some already baking.

“Feffer,” Wilton said, “do you still have the lock picks I gave you?”

Feffer opened his eyes. The sun was just as bright as it had been. He squinted at Wilton. “Hidden in my belt compartment,” Feffer touched his belt, “like you suggested. I have been practicing as often as I can with the heavy lock you gave me, too. I think I could move on to shackles next.”

“Good,” Wilton said. “You never know when that skill will be useful. It might save your life some day.”

Finally, the opening Feffer had been waiting for. He just wished that his brain didn’t throb.

“Wilton,” Feffer said. “Can I ask you something?”

Wilton looked at him with a flat stare. Some time passed before he said, “Ask.”

“What happened to your squad?”

Elwin looked up from his half-eaten bread.

“They all died, Feffer. They were tortured and killed.”

“What?” Elwin asked at the same time Feffer said, “So it is true, then.”

“Were you … hurt?” Feffer asked. He had almost said
tortured
.

Wilton stood. “It is time to go.”

His brother untied and mounted his mare, then spurred his horse to a gallop. Feffer mounted his own horse, but it took several minutes to catch up to his brother. The short gallop had not been kind to his splitting skull, but it didn’t seem as important as it had.

Wilton did not even glance at him.

Curse it all, he wished he could take his question back. More so he wished there was something he could do or say to make things better. Tortured. His brother had been tortured. The rumors had all been true. Feffer couldn’t help but wonder.

How had he escaped?

As Elwin passed above him, he felt a chill in the air. He pushed thoughts of torture and escape from his mind. Home. A few more days and he would be home.

“Haven.” He patted his horse. “Because you are taking me home. Everything will be alright, as soon as we get home.”

Air rushed around Elwin and through him as he flew high above Feffer and Wilton. Facing the ground allowed him to keep his eyes open, but the rush of air made him want to close them. Each time he blinked, his eyelids wanted to stick together and not open. But it was the wind. He could keep going. They were almost home.

Maybe he could close them for just a second. No. He had to keep them open, or he could veer off course and lose...

A moment panic struck him when he realized he couldn’t see Feffer or Wilton. He slowed to a stop and scanned the trees. When the two horses emerged on the road from beneath the copse, Elwin sighed with relief.

As if they could hear him at this distance, he said between breaths, “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

He shook his head. Jasmine found a way to make him train without even being there. He could almost hear her voice the question when she saw him next.

Elwin raised the pitch of his voice. “Now, what did you learn about flying long distances?”

Well, at least he had an answer for this one.

Balancing the tide of Air flowing into his essence to sustain flight over short distance had become like walking or running in bursts. However, flying for over miles felt like working all day in a field or marching for hours on end. But, he had discovered, hovering didn’t take much effort. It felt more like standing. Sure, after a day of running, standing took effort, but it felt like taking a rest after a run. Hovering felt just like that.

Once his heart slowed, Elwin tamed more Air and moved to catch Feffer and Wilton. Once they were below him, he slowed to match them.

“See,” he said. “I told you I could catch up.”

Being alone was another negative side of flying while they rode their horses. Talking as if they could hear him helped to alleviate some of the monotony. He could fly near them, but he preferred solitude to biting-gnats and blood-flies splattering against his face. Jasmine spoke of creating an Air shield, which would help with bugs and the rush of wind in his face. But Elwin had mostly been worked on flying and the wind thrust. And he had begun to work on a veil and the lightning hurl. Veils would bend the air in such a way to make him invisible. Perhaps, she would teach him the shield next.

In the meantime, he had to fly above the bugs. That meant being alone in his thoughts. Just a few days ago, he had wanted some time alone. But he couldn’t read while flying, and he hadn’t been able to talk to Feffer for almost a year. He was so exhausted by the evening meal, talk around the campfire didn’t last very long.

And the mood felt tense.

Wilton had not said much since admitting to the loss of his squad. Talking about his own year in Justice and the trial seemed insignificant in comparison to torture. Feffer didn’t seem to remember the trial, and Elwin wasn’t ready to talk about the Awakening.

Elwin shivered. Probably from the chill in the air. The prophecies were just superstition. The Awakening had nothing to do with him.

He glanced around. Dark clouds moved in from the north, and even at this distance he could feel the energy in them. Perhaps, they would miss Benedict. Poppe would be disappointed if it rained on his festival.

A surge of excitement went through him. His Poppe had found him. Whoever his mother had been, she picked the best person he knew to look after him. Of all the people in Benedict, he couldn’t have asked for a better grandpa.

The edge of the land flattened out on the horizon, and Elwin saw a log home made of redwood. Smoke rose from the chimney and spread out above the farm and farmhouse. The fields flourished with green leaves in neat rows. This was the first farm on the west side of Benedict.

Home.

Butterflies fluttered in his stomach and a chill ran up his spine. Behind those walls, his mother prepared the meal, while Father sat by the fire to read a book or tally his yield.

Elwin felt a renewed vigor.

He ceased his flow of Air and stretched into a dive, angling his body toward the moving horses. As he neared the ground, he jerked upward while taming Air to fly at a level with Feffer and Wilton.

He slowed as he reached them and said, “The farm is only a few miles, not more than a league. I’ll meet you there.”

“Finally,” Feffer said. Then his eyes widened. “Do you think they are cooking?”

Elwin smiled. “I saw smoke in the chimney.”

Opening his essence wide, Elwin let the Air flow through him, and his body lurched up and forward. He heard Feffer’s shout of, “Wooohooo,” as the land rushed by, and he felt bugs bounce off his head as he ascended. But he didn’t care. He covered the last few miles to the farm in less than a minute.

He slowed to descend and landed in the field by the barn, leaning against it to catch his breath. His heart raced, and he wanted to sit. Refusing to give in to his weary legs, he marched toward the front porch.

As he approached the farm, he stopped. The farm was different.

His father had expanded the farmhouse. Gutters and new wooden tiles
surrounded the entire house to help the home withstand the frequent summer storms, like he always said he would. Fresh timber extended from the older wood of the house several more paces toward the barn. He turned to look at the barn and gaped. It had doubled in size. Two extra plows rested in the fields alongside the old one, and the crops stretched farther than they ever had. Much more than one man could handle alone. There were too many cattle in the pen for Elwin to count.

He looked at the home again. Had he come to the right house?

Then he saw the porch swing. Worn and weathered, the names Elwin and Feffer had been carved into the side. He stared at the names for a moment. Feffer had chipped the knife while carving his name, and Father had switched them for using his good knife without permission. He hadn’t been able to sit the next day without feeling the sting.

It should have been a bad memory. Who liked to be punished? But it made Elwin smile, and the lingering nervousness at seeing his parents again faded. This
was
his home.

He walked up to the door, debating whether or not to knock. People left home all the time. Did they knock when coming home? Or did they just walk right in?

As he raised a hand to open the door, a booming laugh from within stayed his hand. The voice was way too deep to have been his father. Then, he heard others talking and laughing.

What in the abyss? What if his parents no longer lived here? Was it possible that they sold the farm or gave the land back to Lord Arca?