Chapter Text
1
If Oralech was ever the one to jump into conclusions, assuming that the boy—Rez—will be an easy patient, it was too soon a sentiment.
He was as unexpected as children can be, melting the hearts of adults and being as innocent as ever. That can turn south in a blink. In Rez’s case, it came like lightning during a sunny day. He was a handful.
Oralech should have seen it coming. After two moons, the surgical wound scarred over and his breathing levelled, he ventured the entirety of the Blackwagon like a raving howler. One moment you see him picking at the tiniest holes he found in the floor; the next he was halfway in the drive-imps’ centrifuge. And that was only the bottom of the list.
Rez found the braces understandingly uncomfortable. Oralech told him that he must wear them at least half of a whole day and the boy was bemused. He reminded him further that his legs would heal better with them. Immediately, the boy attempted to take off the braces by breaking open the bolts – which he fortunately failed.
Next came the food. Downside cuisine were far from normal. Even the most accustomed exile could only stomach small portions per meal. Before, Rez was able to keep the food in with little problem. Abruptly, on one afternoon, he stared at his bowl of usual slit porridge and poured the contents to the ground. It took stern warnings from all three adults and a worried imp to make him eat.
Then there were the books. Oralech thought the boy was clear that he was not to be attached to the Book of Rites. The papers the bog-crone bought became a new book. However, the mystical books remained a target. He had gotten over his fear of them. Rez would open one while everyone else was preoccupied. The peeking became reading, the reading became entertaining, and the entertainment led to him hooked until dead of night. The bog-crone had to craft an aromatic candle to lull the boy to sleep.
On top of the list was the boy’s temper tantrum. His legs have yet to heal completely though he craved to walk. He refused to be lifted and punch whoever asked thrice. Thus, Gareph was full of bruises. Rez would sometimes squish Iq’sa so hard she had to bear her fangs to make him stop. He behaved around Oralech and the crone, but neither were spared from his outbursts (where he would yank the cloth around the demon’s horns or ‘misplacing’ the crone’s tools while looking at her straight in the eye).
Maybe ‘a handful’ was a tame statement.
On the bright side, the boy has more courage and energy than he appeared to be. He didn’t think twice on scavenging. He tamed a ravaging drive-imp without imp food. He could withstand a bog-crone’s touch as easy as blinking. Sometimes he would tattle about his activities or his daydreams; lightening the mood as if his tantrums never happen.
Rez had a spectrum that was neither common nor rare. Moon-touched folk were often associated with it, though that doesn’t mean normal humans and other races cannot have it. Some didn’t show while others were obvious. Oralech had encountered several soldiers like Rez. None of them were easy. At least Rez’s kicking were not as strong as theirs, not that he should keep it a habit.
There was nothing wrong with him or anybody like him. They did not ask to be the way they were. They did not understand why they act such a way, either. The Commonwealth pretended that the spectrum was some form of viral disease. It never was.
There was a Cur with the spectrum from Oralech’s old neighbourhood who was exiled simply for asking the wrong person for directions. It was his daily routine—his way of being sociable. Oralech tried to find him on his first years in the Downside but to no avail. Doubtful he lasted long on his own.
Rez won’t last on his own. That was the conclusion.
The Downside was already deadly to the fully abled; worse for the disabled. To leave the boy behind and having a chance to see his body lying lifeless on the earth, Oralech would rather die than to have it happen.
2
They camped near the Spring of Jomuer where the corpse of Bialanthius provided shade under the curl of its stinger. The boy, no longer fuming from the heat, busied himself by brushing the drive-imps. The crone took a nap while her Savage grandson tinkered with the Blackwagon’s wheels after one of them were loose. Iq’sa left in search for food. Oralech stood a distance away from the spring, his mind elsewhere.
This was the place I joined the Nightwings, he thought. How strange I used to find tranquillity around titanic corpses.
He had not thought about the Scribes for a while. He used to respect them, seeing them as divine beings. What a fool he was. The Scribes were mere mortal. They were as dead as the Titans they slew. Mortal were bound to mistakes. The Scribes’ mistake were the Rites, and the damage lasted far longer than their time alive. ‘Devine’ my—
“WOW-HO! Bi’G dung!”
Surprise wiped away the tranquil. Oralech looked on his side and found the boy there marvelling the Titan. When did he get here? He didn’t hear a sound of the boy’s crutches nor the creaks of his braces. “How did you get here?”
Rez remained fixated at the Titan. “I-ee walk-ked,” he said matter-of-factly.
“You aren’t supposed to walk.”
“Bu’ht I wan’Na.”
“That doesn’t mean you must, Rez.”
Rez whined, “Bu-h I Emm borrrrrr-edd! You won’ lemme Hav the magic books-Sss! Nanna sleepin’, Gaelly iz busy. Sasa iz not aroun’. I jus’ wan’Na walk!”
As much as Oralech wanted to cut him off mid-sentenced, he mustn’t. People with spectrum hated being interrupted. Rez could not control his mood especially under the heat of the Valley.
“Not an excuse,” said Oralech firmly, crossing his arms. “You want to walk better? You rest. You want to run – then do as I say.”
Rez gave him a side-eye and puffed his cheeks. A minute passed and he spoke up, pointing a finger at the dead Titan. “D’you kno—wu tha’ bi’G thing iz du’Ng?”
Dung? That cannot be possible. Nothing can excrete even a quarter of the size. Unless—No! Don’t even think about it. “Looks like a boulder.”
“Nu-uh,” the boy shook his head. “It’s dung’Uh.”
“How are you sure?”
“In za magic Book-kuh,” The boy’s eyes gleaming under the sun. “Unnn’der-King Ores said Jomu-yer gat’her lots and lots o beetle dun-G and CRUSH—” he motioned his hands as though he were holding an invisible ball and slammed it to his feet. “—Ban-Tiyuss to death!”
Oralech corrected him, “Bialanthius.” Impressive... It took Brighton a year to understand that part of the Book. It took two Rite cycles for Volfred. Today should mark Rez’s third moon in exile. He excelled better than them already. Pride bloomed within the demon; he quickly shook free from it.
“Will you return to the wagon now?”
“No.”
Oralech held the urge to sigh and roll his eyes altogether. “Rez, please, just go. Help Gareph with the wheel or something.”
“Wha’ abou-Tt you? Or-Rah staring at tha giant score-pan for ‘an hour.”
“Scorpion. And it wasn’t even that long. I’m here to collect herbs. Now go. I won’t move until you leave.”
“Geh, okay!” Rez puffed his face and stomped away.
The sun began to slip from its peak when Oralech returned to the Blackwagon. Silence greeted him sans Gareph’s hammering outside. Something’s missing. He scanned the makeshift home.
Beddings, check.
Water barrels, check.
Food stock, check.
Sol, tucked safely in the coffer.
Drive-imps, check.
Their sigil, unmoving on the lounge floor.
Bog-crone sleeping on top of it.
Book of Rites, check.
The boy’s things, check—
The boy.
“Where is Rez?” asked Oralech aloud.
The hammering stopped. “Huh?”
“Where is Rez? I told him to help you.”
A pregnant pause. “I haven’t seen him. I thought he’s still with you, sir.”
The answer was enough to make his heart leap to his mouth.
Rez was hobbling back to the Blackwagon, wishing there was someone who actually let him do things. He didn’t get Oral, or Gary, or Sassa, or Nanna. They wouldn’t let him walk but he felt fine. His ankles sting a bit but still fine.
This valley was hot. Not as bad as the place where Oral found him. Still hot. Why can’t they stay in the Prairie? The place has trees, lots of fruits, other people, and pools for baths. Why must they move around?
Oh, right! Jomuer Many-Mane said to always keep moving. Oral didn’t like Jomuer or any of his friends. So why did he follow what he said?
Weird…
From the corner of his eye, Rez saw a pack of curs sprinting around a flat opening in circles. They have the weirdest, funny looking hairline. The one with black fur had his (hers?) styled in red with a fish fin on top of the head and wore a collar with metal skulls hanging on each side. Rez recognised the style but what were they called? Spunk? Funks?
“FASTER, YA LOT!! THE STARS AIN’T SHINING FOR SLOWPOKES!” the cur with the red fin-hair yelled. The voice was definitely male. The other curs howled back at him.
“On it, boss!!”
“Not tired yet, boss!”
“The stars will be in our fangs, boss!”
“They better!” the fin-haired cackled. “NOW STICK YOUR HEAD BACK TO YOUR PAWS!!”
“AYE, BARKER!”
“FOR THE DISSIDENTS!”
“YAAARRGH!!!”
Too loud. These curs were too loud… but they look fun. Running in circles like there’s no tomorrow. Could Rez join them? Maybe not. Curs use swear words a lot. Rez hated swear words. They made Mama angry.
The sun continued to beat down. Rez felt his skin turning crispy like cookies. He sighed. I miss cookies… I need shade, he thought. He took a last glance at the curs and turned away. Rez hobbled for another five minutes and – lo and behold – a Blackwagon! Except … this one is orange and black. His was supposed to be blue and red.
“Uhh…” Did he take a wrong turn? That’s not right. He was sure he took the right one. Did he take a left? No, he took a straight, the huge score-pan with the giant dung was on his left. Then he turned right, passed three bone-shaped rocks and saw the curs. He took another right…
Hang on… Was right left?
Or was left right?
Rez’s hands flew to his hair. “Aaaaarrrrrghhh…!” I forgot which is left and right! Again! He cupped his face and observe his surroundings, the air growing hotter by the second.
Where do I go? Where do I go? There was only sand and bone-rocks. They look different but same at once! Did that make sense? I don’t know! Maybe! What did Mama say if this happens?
“Find a safe place before you find help.”
Yes, yes! Mama did that when she got lost! But … that was Up. This was Down. Nowhere was safe. The owners in the orange wagon might help, but will they? What if they were like the horned lady back in the Prairie? What if they were less friendly than her? What if they hurt him like the people from Up?
One way to find out.
He called out to the orange Blackwagon. “Helloooo? An-one in’N?”
No answer.
“Hey-llooooo?”
His voice echoed with the wind.
Rez carefully approached the entrance door. He knocked twice, and still no reply. Maybe they’re sleeping? If he knocked the door with a fist, maybe he’ll wake them up. Mama said to not be rude… But it’s so hot…
Sorry, Mama.
Rez pound on the door BANG! –and fell flat on his face, half his body through the doorway. The wagon’s indoor shade relieved his skin but the creaking, swinging door was ticking him off.
“Huh-rrgggh?!” Why didn’t they lock the door? I just growled like Nanna. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He just fell like the trap part on a mouse trap in someone’s wagon. Was there anybody in here? Did they saw him? Will they laugh or be angry? The stillness in the wagon answered him – nobody was around.
Rez huffed and gather to his feet, clenching his teeth when the braces around his ankles screeched. Tears formed in his eyes. Why did I leave Oral? He should have listened to him, and Nanna, and Gary, and Sassa. I should wait outside.
Rez wiped his sleeve over her eyes as he slowly collected himself. He rubbed his eyes, adjusting to the dim wagon. A fracture of sunlight shone on a particular object on a shelf on a wall across Rez.
A spine of a book.
A book!
Rez gasped and crawled towards it without warning himself. The leg braces whined at the movement. Rez ignored them. All he cared were the book before him. His face was inches away when he realised there was another beside it. And another above it.
Rows of books all various in size and thickness filled the bottom half of the wall. From the spines, they were all hardcovers. He touched one with a symbol on the bottom of row. It was engraved, which meant that these books were printed!
By a stamping press!!
Rez squealed, his heart leapt to the sky, “EEEEIIIIK!!”
His hands grabbed a small sized book with a fire symbol on the spine. It contained a tale of a prince seeking a lost ancient being to regain his honour which he eventually joined hands with to defeat his tyrannical lord father who conquered the world in oppression.
He pulled out a second book, a thick medium sized one with a picture of a glittering egg. He thought the egg was a water droplet, at first, until he reached the near middle where it revealed to be the offspring of the king of dragons. The story mentioned something he did not like – hating another race just because they knew only one aspect of them.
So Rez closed it when nearing the end and pulled a third book, a large thick one with various of symbols. This one had many stories in them. None were directly related to the other, but they were all interesting in their own way. Bummer ending on the second story. Boo…!
They could make it different, he thought as he crossed his arms over the book. They don’t have to make him die. Did Writer forget about the plant in the first story? The plant that can heal every hurt. Are the stories connected? Is the Writer someone else?
Rex delved deeper into his own fantasy, not realising the sky preparing for evening, not realizing the sunray now passing directly through the door and windows instead of the holes on the roof. He put his head over his hands as his eyelids slowly droop down.
Jara can go straight to him. He’ll comfort him, say he is sorry, and he will stay with him until it’s over. Or he could go in his place and do all those stuffs himself. His friend won’t have to be hurt again. He can rest. Yes, he can! Jara is too mean to say that to his friend. Friends don’t do that! Mama will hate it if I do that. Mama, Machi, Ani, Fika, everyone!
“Oi...”
Is Mama still up there? Is she okay? Is she hurt? She must be crying right now since I’m down here… Maybe those people are nicer to her? They have to be—they have to! Mama is not well…
“Oi.”
Is Mama healthy up there, Saint Triesta? Is she sleeping right now? Does she miss me? Will you tell her that Rez can take care of himself? He has friends down here. Oral, Gary, Sassa, Nanna. They’re doctors. They can take care of me, I’m sure!
“Oi!”
I want more friends. You said exile with friends are better than being alone. I believe you. I want more friends. But exiles are so mean…
“OI!”
“WAAAAHHHH!!!”
Rez screamed. He shot up from the book and crawled quickly to a stack of crates in a corner and huddled behind them. He fell asleep! The wagon’s owners are back! They sound angry. What do I do?!
“You got some guts breaking into my Blackwagon. I’d probably give you a talk if you hadn’t scream like a possessed wyrm-knight!”
That voice… Rez recognised that voice. It’s the Cur with the red fish-fin for hairline! This was his Blackwagon? The books were his? He did not sound nice. Not at all.
“What are you—a dwarf? Ain’t seen a two-legger your size before. How about ya come out here the same way ya got in here. I’d like to see your face.”
What would Machi do? ...That’s right! She put her brave mask, look right into the other Matri’s face, and … play cool? Was that what sissy said? Oral did the same before with that weird lady in the Prairie. Except, he was always scary. Rez knew he was nowhere near as scary as Oral. Though he could try… maybe not.
Rez took a deep breath and slowly breathe out. He carefully peaked from the crates and was met by the very pack of Curs with the weird hairlines. What came right after were the Curs stunned faces.
“What in the bloody loving life?” one blurted out. “A kid.”
The second Cur spoke, “No duh, Scarly.”
“He looks small…” a third gasped quietly.
The fifth mumbled, “I don’t even know what to say….”
Rez slid out of from behind the crates. He looked hard at each of them. Four including Fish-fin Hair looked male. The remaining two looked female. Their hairlines made it hard to tell. Fish-fin Hair stood at all fours in front of him. His eyes furrowed in anger or something else, Rez couldn’t tell.
He gave a wave. “Hey-lo… Em sorry for intrud-Ding. It waz hot an’ the door waz not locked,” he gulped. “I got…uhhh…guh…Lost.”
A moment passed. Sweat began to stick badly under Rez’s clothes. He wanted to change. He wanted to go back to his own Blackwagon. Can these Curs stop staring like he’s an alien? What’s an alien?
Fish-fin Hair spoke, “Lost, huh?”
Rez nodded.
“Lost for how long?”
How long? Well… The sky used to be bright blue when he walked around. But the sun was not exactly straight above him. Since the sky looked orange-y now, which means he must have been gone for—
“Hey, don’t ya hear what boss said?” said one of the male Curs, surprising Rez. No, no, no. I was calculating!
Another male Cur, who looked older than the others, turned to the first Cur. “Hush up, Snarlo. The kid’s spooked.”
“Shouldn’t be that long to give a simple answer.”
“Still, just hush up, will you?”
“Come on, chum. Too scared to answer?”
I’m not, I’m not! You interrupted me!
“Snarlo,” one of the two female Curs nudged him. “knock it off.”
“Give him some space,” said the other female Cur.
“The kid’s an exile,” replied Snarlo. “What’s he gonna expect? Happy hooligans?”
Rez’s body began to tremble. Oh no… What if these curs are worse than the horned lady in the Prairie? His muscles threatened to move—to stomp, to punch, to run out the wagon. I want my friends!
Then Fish-fin Hair spoke up in a commanding tone. “Either you keep him from talking, Snarlo, or waste our time. So, snap your mouth shut! The kid says when he’ll say it.”
Snarlo stepped back and gave Rez a glare. The boy trembled more.
“Hey, kid.” Rez turned to Fish-fin Hair. “I’ll just assume you’ve been here for hours. How about you tell us where your mates are.”
Rez blinked. “…Mate’Suh?”
“Friends, companions or whatever. There is no way anybody with legs like yours can travel around by themselves. Tell us where and we’ll take you there.”
…Huh… Fish-fin Hair was nice. He looked unfriendly especially with the metal skulls and spikes on his collar. Rez peered deeper into the Cur… He’s not lying. He’ll take me back to Oral!
Rez took a deep breath. “Mah friends are at’Tuh Bantiyus’s tail.”
A beat passed. The Curs crooked their heads to the side.
“Bantiyus? What the heck is Bantiyus?”
“You mean where.”
“Do you mean Bialanthius, chum?” asked the oldest Cur.
Rez lit up, nodding vigorously. “Yah! Tha’ gia’N score-pan!”
“Scorpion.”
“Score-pan.”
“Near the Spring of Jomuer then.” Fish-fin Hair said. “It ain’t far from here but that’s quite a walk. Gotta say I’m impressed you climbed by all those dunes on your own, chum.”
Dunes? “No dune.”
“What?”
“I-ee did no’t climb any d’Une. Jus pass a lot o’ rocks.”
Another beat passed with Fish-fin and the Curs looking at him in disbelief. Fish-fin muttered something under his breath before shouting, “Scarly, get the ropes and that big bark we have! Charson, you’re coming with me! The rest of you, guard the wagon and make sure to fix that lock this time!”
“Yes, boss!” Just like that, the Curs went scurrying around.
The oldest Cur, Charson, Rez was sure, guide him to wait at the entrance while Fish-fin and Scarly were making something with a large piece of wood and some ropes on the sand. The splashes of orange in the sky growing smaller. It really getting late… Oral, Gary, Sassa and Nanna is going to be mad at me…
“What’s your name, chum?” asked Charson with a soft look that didn’t match with his appearance. He gave him a cup of water and Rez immediately drank it. Rez liked him already.
“I am-mm Rez,” he answered happily.
Charson smiled and introduced himself properly. He told Rez his friends’ names. The female Curs, Marla and Scarly; the mean one, Snarlo; the quiet one Walfie; and the leader, Fish-fin Hair—eh no—Barker Ashpaws.
I can stop calling him Fish-fin Hair, thought Rez. “Why nice to’h me?” he blurted out.
Barker answered without looking up from the wood and ropes. “I got an acquaintance like you in the Commonwealth. People always look down on him but his hunting rivalled mine. Folks like you are a bunch. Too bad the Commonwealth and the Archjustice aren’t fond of you.”
Archjustice. That name… Sissy and Machi always mentioned it as if they ate a bug just to say it. Rez wanted to ask more but the thing Barker and Scarly worked on was finished. It’s some sort of sled.
“Climb aboard, chum. Let’s get you there before howlers think we taste good.”
For hours, Oralech dreaded that he’d find the boy hungry, parched, sunburnt, or worse—dead. Howlers thrive in Jomuer Valley. As the day became evening, a stubborn part of his mind kept picturing a small body torn into shreds. He stomped it away for the umpteenth time.
Get it together, he thought. The boy is alive. I will find him alive.
Oralech was sure he had traversed Gluehive wholly now. The bog-dwelling two went to search in Fallflat while Iq’sa guard the Blackwagon, in case the boy returned on his own. He really hoped for the unusual imp to fly to him and say Rez had come back. He stopped hoping that as he almost hallucinated it.
Except, once sunlight disappeared entirely, she really did flew toward him.
“Kree-kee kikikiki!” Rez had returned. He got help from two Curs.
Oralech held back his sigh of relief as he kept pace with the imp back to the Blackwagon. Gareph and the bog-crone were already there.
So was the boy!
… With Barker Ashpaws on his side.
The demon’s relief was blown away like a loose leaf in the wind. Barker Ashpaws has a knickknack with deals. The famous anarchist who has no heart for all but himself. Exiles join the Rites to be free while he joined for the thrill of it. The boy ended up with him? This will not bode well.
“Hi, Ori, Gaelly, Nanna, Sassa…” Waved Rez timidly.
The bog-crone slithered towards him in a blink and pulled him into a tight hug, her wrists bent outward so she doesn’t accidentally paralyse him. “Thee a young worry-maker. Almost gave us a ssssstroke.”
“Wha’h?!”
“We mean not literally, boy.” She said but kept him in her embrace.
Oralech almost rush to Rez’s direction but his attention was on the sled-like thing that was merely a large bark with ropes tied around it. Had Barker and his teammate pulled the boy the whole way here?
“Hey.” Barker caught Oralech’s attention, frustrated or annoyed, or both. “Your kid wandered to my wagon without crossing the dunes. And you have no idea, don’t you? Heh! He’s lucky enough to end up with me. Watch your kid better, ya hear me?”
I am not here to be taught by the likes of you. Oralech almost said his thoughts. He gave the gangly Cur a sharp look who returned it at him.
Barker’s teammate approached. “Well, now, we brought him back. That’s good enough for me.”
Barker scoffed. “You lot better watch over him. I don’t need to tell you how many exiles might want the kid for themselves.”
The demon suddenly recalled the horned woman in Hollowroot. That damn smile she wore… He’d love to tear it a hundred times over. He saw Rez paled at the Cur’s words, clutching the bog-crone’s cover tightly.
“We get it, Ashpaws.” Oralech said sharply. “My thanks for bringing him back.”
“Oursssss, too.” Said the bog-crone.
“Thank you, Barker.” Gareph followed.
“San’k you…” Rez said meekly.
Barker gave his signature sneer. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but I’m not leaving without payment. Just kidding!” He cackled at their brief surprise; his companion didn’t follow and rose a brow at him. The demon expected the remaining members of the Dissidents to be Ashpaws’s copies. Although, this one might not be, despite his style saying otherwise.
As they began to turn and leave, the other Dissident looked at Rez and waved a paw. “Goodbye, kid. Take care of yourself.” Barker only gave a gesture.
Rez’s mood shift, replying loudly, “Bye, Cha’son! Bye, Baker!”
Charson snorted as Barker answered back. “It’s Barker. Better remember that, chum. See ya!”
Oralech waited until the Curs were out of sight before letting out a long sigh. The Cur was right for one thing: the boy was lucky to end up with triumvirate members. Any other triumvirates except for three of them—or four. He headed for the boy who was being nuzzled by Iq’sa in his neck. Rez’s body shrunk as he got close. The demon’s heart sank a little.
“Are you alright?” he asked gently.
Rez nodded slowly. Oralech knelt to see possible hidden injuries but the boy jumped back as his blackened hands neared him.
“I just need to make sure you’re really alright, Rez.”
“Em fine.”
Oralech crooked a brow. “Are you sure?”
Rez puffed his cheeks and stare at his feet. Oralech held back a sigh when the boy muttered, “You ang’gry?”
“Hmm?”
“I-ee wen’Tuh missing… Jus like tha’… You ang’gry, Ori?”
Usually, Oralech would have been straightforward. Exiles know better than to hide their hurts especially when there was a willing healer around. Rez was no normal exile. He was a child first of all.
“I was, at first,” Oralech said. “But you are here now, safe and sound. I’m not angry at you.”
Rez searched him for a lie. The demon braced for the presence but it never came.
Gareph clapped his hand, breaking the awkwardness. “Hey, Rez. Iq’sa caught this huge fish for dinner. It’s tastes like salmon—way better than slit porridge.”
Rez lit up. “I wan’Na!”
Oralech gave the Savage a thankful look. He and Rez chatter for a moment when a question ticked the demon.
“Cah’n we in-vah’T Baker an’ his friends?”
The bog-crone asked, “Why, child?”
“They help-Ped me. They frien’ly. Baker haz books, too!”
The gears in the demon’s mind halted. Invite the Dissidents? They have books? Barker can read? The last thing he wished was the boy finding things he liked with the wrong people, and now it happened. Great work, Oralech.
“Can’h we, Oral?”
Oralech stared at the boy who stared back with eyes full of hope. Somewhere within him urged to fulfil his request. His other, stronger side resented. If Ashpaws finds out who he was, word will fly to Volfred. He cannot let that occur.
“No, Rez. Exiles are not to be taken lightly.” Rez’s face fell and Oralech continued. “It doesn’t matter if they can read or not. We must be wary. You don’t know what that Cur can do.”
Rez crunched his face. “Then cah’N we buy his boo-kuhs?”
“No.”
Wrong choice of words.
Rez’s fists curled around Oralech’s hair and yanked them down hard. He clambered up the demon’s head until he was in between his smaller horns before screaming his lungs out. “I wan’ books! I wan’ books! I WANT BOOOOOOKS!! I HATE YOU!!” He pounded his fist and flayed his legs repeatedly atop of the old physician’s head.
Over a dune they were about to climbed down, Barker and Charson witnessed the four exiles struggling to calm the boy down. Across other dunes and rocks popped up other exiles wondering what in the Downside was the ruckus about.
Charson looked at Barker. “Should we help them?”
“Nah,” Barker replied. “More people around will only make him fussier.”
“Well, I hate to see him like that. Him and his folks.”
“Don’t bother, Charson. If the kid trusts them that’s enough. We got our own matters to worry.”
The two watched as the crone in the team successfully pull the raging boy off the demon. The man pulled him into a tight hug and carried him into their wagon with the crone tailing them. The strange imp fluttered around the demon who painfully rubbed the area around his horns before going to their moving shelter.
Something came to the Dissidents leader. “Where do you reckon they’re going?” he asked the older Cur.
Charson hummed. “Since they are pilgrims, they must be using the path for normal pilgrimage—the long way. By tomorrow they should be heading to Cairn of Ha’ub. Why?”
“I got an idea.”
The boy kept blowing raspberries. He had not stopped since breakfast. He would not talk unless it’s a yes-or-no question. His “Yes” was a small hard nod and his “No” a vigorous head shake. When his “No” really meant no, he will stomp his feet and pound the walls. Hence, his legs hurt and Rez kept dazing through the window in the bunk area facings the desert as the Blackwagon moves.
As the hour of late morning approaches, a Blackwagon coloured black and orange rolled beside them and stopped before them, promptly forcing the other wagon to halt as well. The one greeting them was none other than the infamous Barker Ashpaws.
That anarchist, thought Oralech sourly. Now what? The last thing he need was a triumvirate member recognising him. Although, Barker joined after the Nightwings’ fallout. Hopefully the Cur thought him dead like everyone else.
The gangly Cur eyed them with proud mischief before he found Rez by the window.
“Hey, chum!”
Rez gasped and leaned out the window. “Baker!”
“It’s Barker.”
“Yah—Baker!”
Snickers over in the other Blackwagon. Barker glanced behind him and the snickering stopped.
“What you doo-In’?” Rez asked the gangly Cur.
“Looking for you, chum. You made quite a scene last night. I reckon you need something to cheer up.”
Barker coming to meet them to cheer the boy up? The Barker Ashpaws? Oralech must be hallucinating.
“Come on out, chum. I don’t have all day.”
Oh, it’s real alright.
Rez waddled his way to meet the Cur, smiling from ear to ear. Barker pushed a bundle of books with his paws varying sizes tied up in thin strings.
“Here are the books you read yesterday and some I don’t read anymore. You can have ‘em all if you want.”
“Rea’ly?!”
“Really.”
Rez gasped loudly. With a surprising speed, he zoomed to the entrance before anyone could grab him should his braces snap from the fast movement. Fortunately, they did not. He slowed down to waddle towards Barker and the books.
“Tha’kh you!!” said Rez loudly, opening his arms wide and closed them around Barker’s neck.
The Dissident leader gagged as Rez buried his face into the fur of his neck.
His packmate’s mouths fell open. The bog-crone’s serpentines were frozen on her head. Gareph’s eyes went wide. Iq’sa watched the scene in amusement. Oralech felt his eyebrows rising higher than ever.
This boy...! Swiftly, the demon went to pull the boy off Barker who looked as though he were about to maul him (curs normally don’t do that to humans, for their own reasons).
The boy seemed satisfied of the hug. “Tha’kh you, thank-kuh yo’U!! You soooo fu’lfy!”
“Fluffy.” Oralech automatically corrected him.
“Fulf’y.”
“Don’t you encourage him, big guy,” sneered Barker. “Curs don’t hug those who ain’t their kind, chum, remember that.”
“You don-tuh?”
“Yes. And don’t do it again! Especially me!”
“Why-iii? Buh’t you so sof’!”
The old cur whom accompanied Barker last night guffawed from his Blackwagon, earning stares from his packmates and a glare from Barker.
- Rez was too happy to notice. Female Dissidents cooed.
-Oralech baffled.
3
The Flagging Hands was horrendous as always. The humidity mixed with the atmosphere of Wyrm Gulf and the scorching Valley heat never failed to test exiles’ endurance. The sight of the mass grave Coldmoat did not help. Unless you’re a bog-dweller, no new exiles were able to withstand the Hands’ atmosphere right off the bat.
Poor Rez had it bad.
They had barely spent a night there when Rez woke up shortly after being tucked in and vomited. The small band prepared him for the place; assuming that the boy would adjust soon. Then his vomiting increase on the next day. And the next, and the next.
A fever struck on the fourth day. Rez had no energy to move about from his bunk, only enough to pull the basin placed by his bedside whenever he felt a vomit coming. Neither Oralech, Gareph or his grandmother found the cause of this. They fear grew as his vomits turn from having specks of food to greenish liquid. Fortunately, as they arrived at Big Bertrude’s, the puking ceased, and he slept calmly for the first time in a week.
Their Blackwagon went through more upgrades to sail safely. They could have left two dawns ago but not while Rez was still running a fever.
They sheltered near Big Bertrude’s where a very large rock with large holes have been made into an inn. There were not any essential materials in them, aside from a safe dry space enough to fit three humans. They use battered curtains for doors. Not much privacy compared to the Blackwagon but at least it won’t trap the humid air inside.
Rez lay on a stone slab cushioned with layers of clothes, hoping to give him as much comfort he can get. Oralech left to clean his robes which was stained with Rez’s vomit when moving him into the inn. Iq’sa accompanied the demon, leaving the foster family to watch over the sick boy.
Gareph attempted to tell him their life in the Above to lighten the boy’s mood. “You should see the Southern Bogs, Rez. It’s not just trees and swamps in there. There are open fields in the middle of the forests. The rivers never stop flowing. There’s even one river that cleans itself! You can throw mud or paint or such—you won’t find a trace of it at the end of it.”
Rez’s face lit up. “Woah…”
“It’s very cool. That river is where young bog-dwellers go every day.” Gareph then chuckled nervously. “It’s … not … the best place for humans to go, apparently.”
Rez blinked slowly. “…Why?”
The bog-crone answered him before Gareph could. “Young bog-dwellers have a keen eye to humans.”
Gareph’s eyes widen like saucers. Rez almost laughed at that.
She continued, “It issssss true. Especially the young crones. He-dwellers hardly care because they stay in the Bog their whole life. A male bog-dweller issss hard to find in the Commonwealth.”
Rez coughed a bit as he asked, “Why-uhh … Gaelly dun like crones-sus?”
The duo shook their head. “No. It’s not like that, Rez,” replied Gareph.
Again, his grandmother cut him off. “Young cronesss fight to make him their lover.”
“Granma!” She only laughed at his outburst. “I don’t need to remember that!”
She ignored him and tell the tales of how one tried to earn him by showing her bug collection only for the stinkbugs to explode. Another impressed him with her skills with acid before a handful of liquid spilled on his feet, hence the splotch scars there. More flirting attempts went on and on until the Savage was confined with his foster grandmother in their not-so-legal clinic in the slums of the Commonwealth.
“Doctor… Yooo two?” Rez asked with a throaty sound.
“Granma is. Not me.”
“Buh-t… You did sure-gery on me…”
“Only Granma taught me. I don’t have real training doctors usually get. Technically, by Commonwealth standards, I don’t count.”
That made Rez so confused his head hurt.
“Like thissss, child,” began the crone, as she fixed the boy’s bedding. “The Commonwealth see the future of human orphans only as soldierssss. Gareph here lost his father in that war. His mother died in childbirth. We took him as our grandson because we fear for his life. Our nation knew naught of his existence until they raid our clinic. We had no money for hissss education. We had no heart to give him up, either.”
A beat passed when Gareph spoke up. “They didn’t toss us down here because of our clinic. They see Granma a kidnapper. They see me avoiding military recruitment out of everything else.” He turned away and said under his breath with venom in his voice, “Everyone is tired of the war but they make sure it keeps going.”
Rez knew about the war. Machi, Ani and Fika sometimes leave and came back hurt. Ani left one day … and never came home.
Rez missed her. He missed Machi and Fika. Gary and Nanna miss their home, too. Oral must miss his as well. Everybody in the Downside miss home.
“Iz Ori doc-Torr, too?” he asked, stifling a cough.
“Kid,” said Gareph. “He is – was – is the best doctor in the Downside. Thanks to him, you’ll be running before you know it.”
Joy blossomed inside Rez. He can run again! He almost gave a cheer when coughing happened. Gareph quickly patted him in the back and adjust his position.
“I ha’th dis…!” mumbled Rez.
-Rez puked third time today. Lying on his bedding whole day. Gareph cheers him by telling why he got exiled; shows how he moves like a bog-crone. Grandma’s name is Nefarhyne.
-Oralech startled awake with Rez squirms. Gareph and Iq’sa missing. Commotion outside Big Bertrude’s. Udmildhe and her followers not welcomed. Oralech thinks she aims Rez, shield their sleeping spot from view.
-Rez reaches for Oralech’s hand.
-Rez starts to cry in pain. Udmildhe shifts her attention to the sleeping spot. Bertrude warns her off. The Withdrawn leaves, citing that the Rite cycles are renewing.
-TR about to leave to sail by dawn. Rez feels better. Bid goodbye to Gareph’s grandmother. Reveal her name, Nefarhyne. Rez hugs her. She gave a puzzle box for Rez to play (cube). Oralech busy avoiding Bertrude’s attention.
4
A veteran wyrm-knight used to lead the Pyrehearts. He was uptight with true mercy and justice. If he boasted around that he was a descendant of Underking Ores, it would sound plausible. He passed away during Oralech’s last days with the old Nightwings. The Pyrehearts of those days were loyal to their leader, yet they could voice out their opinions and no trouble will befall on them. The Pyrehearts have lost that face.
“Dare you trespass this knight’s waters?!”
Sir Deluge, a coward of wyrm-knight. Abandoned his post and authority at the most wrong time. Dozens of lives were lost, most being his fellow wyrms. Yet he showed no remorse.
“Speak, you false triumvirate! Lest ye with to drown in the sea!”
Like all daring Downside travellers, Oralech and his group decided to cross the calmed tempest passaging a way to the Deathless Tempest. How the passage subsided was a mystery. A rumour claimed a member of the Pyrehearts betrayed them and destroyed the spawn of the Unfathomed Plurnes sheltered there. Oralech sighed in relief upon hearing that. They no longer need to wait days for a chance to leave the Sea of Solis. The new problem was the cowardly wyrm-knight and his blind loyalists in their path.
“Have ye fools gone deaf or what?!”
Oralech, Gareph and Iq’sa gathered at the front deck while Rez rushed indoors whilst clumping his hands on his ears, complaining Sir Deluge’s raucous voice. Gareph crooked his brows as he observed the wyrm-knights. Iq’sa seemed ready to strike them, her fur ruffled on its edge. Oralech stared with a stone face.
“Speak now!!”
Gareph answered first, “Can’t you just move aside? We’ll sail pass and bring you no harm.”
“You think this knight is a fool?! Last someone trespass us he annihilated the spawn of Plurnes! ALL OF IT!!”
“Here I thought Udmildhe is the only Titan worshipper…” Gareph muttered under his breath.
Sir Deluge heard him. “Do not make this knight board your boat!!” The Pyrehearts positioned themselves for a strike.
Oralech pushed Gareph aside and stepped forth, his hooves pounding the deck. “Come up then,” he glowered. “If we are trespassing, why do you not jump on our boat the moment we came?”
Iq’sa concurred and snarled at the Pyrehearts. “Nyarrr-Rraaarh Hah ha!” Iq’sa taunted, if this triumvirate was the bravest, why didn’t they threaten them first.
Sir Deluge quivered; his ever-bulging eye almost ready to pop out entirely. Oralech thought he would disappear into the waters. He had more bravery than the demon assumed, unfortunately.
“You dare threaten this knight!! This knight served the frontlines, the Spiral Sanctum, the Bloodborder! He killed a good number of enemies himself!! THIS KNIGHT SHALL SHOW YOU THE STRENGTH OF THE PYREHEARTS!!!”
The muscles on Oralech’s shoulders tensed. He brainstormed for another threat, however his mind brought up an old scene.
.
He was in a battlefield. Ashes, dirt and smell of blood flying in the air. He was exhausted. His patients were even more so, some have fainted from their injuries. They hid under a trench blocked by large trees where Harps were unable to strike without risking their own life. There was a cur, a wyrm-knight and a human huddling across another trench. All three were young.
They were losing this fight. The Harps were outnumbered, but they have more prowess in the area. One third of the squad dropped dead in a blink. More will follow if they remain. They must retreat!
The commander thought otherwise. He demanded them to fight while he himself ducked in the trench, waving his pistol around like a flag. A soldier tried to reason him. The commander yelled back. He turned to the trio who began to weep. “Fight! Fight, you cowards!” he barked.
Harps screeched from above. Oralech instinctively looked up, bracing for an attack. He glanced back at the commander and saw him kicking the weeping young human. The young Cur and wyrm attempted to stop him. The commander punched the Cur in the throat and stomp on the wyrm. He aimed the pistol at each of them.
Oralech fist struck the commander’s jaw. His younger self shouted at him to order retreat and to—
.
SHUT UP!!
Rez’s voice ringed the air, snapping Oralech back to the present. He expected to see the boy standing enraged on his side. But he was nowhere on deck.
The Pyrehearts stiffened, their body language expressing out “Who speaks?!”
SHUT UP, MOP-HAIR!! Rez yelled again, and again his voice ringed in heads instead of ears.
The demon would have laughed if it weren’t for the sharp prick in his head. Gareph began clutching his head. Iq’sa made a low painful growl. A few of the Pyrehearts shut their lone eye tightly.
Sir Deluge stiffened and his body sank into the waters. The trio watched as the Pyreheart leader sank further into the depth, yet he remained frozen in his pose. His teammates were horrified.
“My miserable Sir Deluge!!”
“Sir Deluge!”
“Commander!!”
One by one, the Pyrehearts plunged into the waters for their petrified leader.
A beat later, Rez peaked through the door.
“They gone?”
The three turned to him, still in scepticism. Oralech recovered first. “Yes, they’re gone.”
“Yayyyy…!” the boy cheered albeit in a tired (sarcastic?) tone. “Noh mo’Ruh noisy food!” Then he shut the door.
Gareph’s mouth went agape. “Wha—? Food? Did he just call Sir Deluge ‘food’?”
“I prefer mop-hair,” replied Oralech with a smirk.
Iq’sa agreed with the demon. “Kriii-ki-ki hrara-har.” She also questioned if they had a device that made voices go loud that she didn’t notice. The men shook their heads.
Oralech explained them how Rez was screaming in their minds through his own. A mystical ability nobody understands. It just came to whomever can read the ancient tongue. The Book of Rites likely play a role in awakening the ability. Oralech never asked Readers of other adversaries about that. If he ever asked Volfred or Brighton, the memories failed to resurface.
…He really needed to keep his memories of the front harder from resurfacing.
He cannot let them get in the way.
If this goes here… And that goes there?
Gary said Nanna often make the strangest toys with unsolvable puzzles. Many kids don’t want toys from her because of that. Rez did not understand. Her toys were solvable, and fun!
… It’s frustrating though.
Why can’t that white colour stayed put? How did that green get there? Since when did he surround the blues with red?
vodijgmdigjo
-Rez solved the puzzle box, found thick strings inside. Idea pops up. He brought out a paper and his charcoal stick.
5
“Hark, sisters! Commonwealth filths have welcomed themselves to our ground.”
The Black Basin was just another death zone within purgatory. As if the molten pools of lava and acid had not made that obvious, Harpies add more problems. No other races could acclimate the place like them.
Now a flock of ten Harps surrounded Oralech’s small group. The demon could tell by the way they soar despite their clipped wings that these Harps have survived many battles. It was either fate or luck that they wound up alive in the Downside.
Damn it! We should have gone to the other path.
“Pathetic. A horned beast, an imposter man and a little imp dare to trespass us,” sneered the one with dark grey wings. “They must have their minds sucked out whilst traversing the seas.”
The Harps laughed and smirked.
“Their ride is an imposter, too,” chided one with green wings. “The shape. The colour placement. They think they can come close to a triumvirate!”
“Pathetic.”
One harp raised her wing. The hungry laughter ceased. “They have a custody to a fragile.” She pointed a wing in the direction of their Blackwagon.
Oralech’s eyes followed and found the boy’s eyes peeping from a window. The demon’s blood turned cold.
The grey-winged Harp jeered further. “What more are you hiding in that, beast?”
“None of your concern.” Oralech growled.
“How about you birds fly back to your nests,” Gareph warned as he pulled the string of his bow, aiming at the grey Harp. “I hate to see anyone getting hurt.”
“Grrrrrr Haaah Rrrrr!” Iq’sa snarled a harsh warning as her fur raised fully on its edge.
A rush of small footsteps went through the wagon. None of the group were quick to hold the door shut before Rez swung it open. He limp-run to get in between the feud. “NO! Don’ hurt each-Ot’er!!”
“Rez!” Oralech’s hand caught the boy and pulled him behind the demon. “What are you doing?!”
“I wan’a help!”
“Go back inside!”
“No!”
“Kid, seriously, go back inside!” Gareph demanded as he and Iq’sa gather close and form a bodily wall in front of the boy.
The Harps stared. Some surprised, some smirked, others had their expressions schooled.
“The rumours are true. The Commonwealth has sent a child into life sentence. What an irony that you filths were able to take your first breath there.” Their laughter returned.
Suddenly, the green winged Harp stopped her sisters with a shriek. “Halt, sisters!” She said before swooping down towards the four.
Oralech’s clenched his fist until his claws seem to bury into his palms. Gareph aimed readily at the Harp. Iq’sa began to bare her fangs. Rez whimpered a bit.
The green-winged Harp carefully approached them. “Let me see the child.”
Oralech growled deeper and Gareph scoffed at the same time. “Only if you’re league away from us.”
“I will not harm him.” She looked at the armed Savage. Her eyes mean true.
The demon signalled him to lower the bow. He reluctantly did though the arrow remained resting on the string. Rez peeked from behind the demon.
The Harp observed the boy. “Come closer.”
Oralech looked down at the boy and immediately he felt a presence in his mind as their eyes meet. Brighton’s mind was not pleasing. His was full of gushes that forced everything in it to do what satisfies him. Volfred’s was earthy and had an air of security with a touch of nature. His often jolted Oralech’s lighter memories. The boy has none of that—Oralech could not describe what his mind felt like.
Oralech thought of a reassurance. Go. We are right behind you.
The boy looked at her and stepped forward until he and the Harp were a few feet from one another.
The Harp frowned. “Answer truthfully, child. Do you hail from the Bloodborder?”
Rez cocked his head then he shook it.
“The mountains, then?”
Rez nodded.
“Which one?”
Rez crunched his face. “Mmm… Moun… Mountah’N…” He hummed in frustration for a brief moment. His face then lit up as he told her the name of a mountain.
The green-winged Harp went pale. Swift like a noble swishing their cape, the Harp knelt and spun with her wings preparing for flight, exposing her back for Gareph’s arrow to pierce through.
“Child, get on.”
“What?!” Outcries from both the group and the spectating Harps.
“Sister, what are you doing? Humans are forbidden in our nests!”
“I am taking him to someone who must know he is here.”
Oralech demanded, his entire being ready to snatch the boy back, “That someone is who, Harp.”
“Someone dear to him,” she replied. She motioned her head for Rez to climb on her back.
Rez was confident that the green-winged Harp will not bring him into a trap. Don’t worry! His voice boomed in the trio’s minds. She’s telling the truth. I’ll be safe.
You better be… was all Oralech thought as Rez and the Harp flew across the molten land.
After several moments what felt like hours, three more Harps all clad in Rite raiment swooped in with Rez hanging on to one of them on her back.
The leading of the three was no other than Tamitha Theyn. A flight tactician, a best of the best among the Highwings. The worst to face in battlefield. And yet, here she was, exiled and breathing. No doubt her hatred boiled like the molten rocks flowing below ground.
Rez got down, waved at his group. “Ta da! I ‘emm fine!”
“Thank the stars and the Scribes! You’re alright!” Gareph exclaimed. Iq’sa chirped aloud the same thing.
Oralech jeered in mind, Thank them. Right. Keep doing that and they will let you fall from a higher place. He pushed the thought away as Rez stride towards them … with the Harp he rode at his side.
The boy stopped a few feet away from his group. He turned to the Harp and took her wingtip in hand. The demon’s blood turned hot, expecting her to knock the boy to the ground harshly. What came from the happy face brought a surprise.
“Sissy, lee-ook! They deh ones who sav-ved me!”
… Sissy?
“Sissy?” Oralech blurted out. He stoned his face when ‘Sissy’ gave him a sharp stare. Unaware of the tension, Rez’s mood continue to glow.
“Uh huh! My sissy Uma’Ni!” He turned fully to the Harp and grab her by the wing-thumbs. “Sis, sis, sis, sis, sis!” he sang as he swung from side to side. The Harp was not perturbed at the slightest.
This makes no sense. Rez, a human, calling a Harp ‘sister’?
The Harp with dark grey wings cried out, “Impossible! A Commonwealth spawn a brother of Harps? What trick is this?!”
Tamitha spoke up. “Commonwealth spawn he is not. This child was born among us, in our mountains, sisters. Wingless he may be, yet he is our fledgling. Have you forgotten Rezuki son of the Matriarch Shang?”
The Harps muttered among themselves. The grey winged Harp backed down.
This explained … many things. The boy’s literacy, his powerful Reading ability, his fixation towards Saint Triesta. He was raised by a Harpy matriarch! The boy has one surprise after another.
Tamitha turned towards Oralech. “You, horned beast. If it were not for this fledgling or the Stars’ design, I would have you dead underneath us now and then.”
Rez stopped swinging, still holding on to his sister’s wing. “He HATES tha’ place, ‘Mitha. Juz like you.”
“Do not meddle in this, boy.” replied Tamitha coldly.
Rez cowed. Fledgling or not, every human is a Commonwealth spawn in her heart.
Tamitha continued, “State your goal for traversing our nests.”
“We are mere pilgrims,” answered Oralech. “We only travel like the triumvirates but we have no means to find freedom.” His chest twinge at the lie but he kept his stoic posture.
“You knew of the Rites then.” Tamitha inclined.
“Yes.”
Gareph finished, “And, as we said, we’re not interested in that.”
-Oralech proposes a deal. TR would give the Essence training for Rites every end of Rite cycle, in exchange for info about the Nightwings. For the Highwing Remnants, Tamitha agrees.
“As thanks for healing our fledgling. And for the Highwing Remnants. Expect no more than information as the Essence will to your training.”
Oralech held back a smirk. “That will be enough.”
“Umm… ‘Ani?”
“Yes, little brother?”
“Iz there op-Pals innn lava?”
Umani giggled. “No, Rezy, opals do not form in melting rocks or rocks for that matter. Have you forgotten what Mother said?”
Rez’s joy faltered. “Umm… I-eee don’…”
“Don’t be upset,” the blue Harp gently lift his chin with her wing. “Sister is sure even Saint Triesta forget things. Now, opals came from fossilised trees. It has to be very old—easy to find in the Downside. But not here in the Black Basin apparently.”
“Aww…. Phoowey!”
“I’m not finished, Rezy.”
“Huh?”
Umani pointed a wingtip towards west. A lush of green congregated the lower part of the volcano yet untouched by the sea. “Over there is Waking Wood. Every flora there may look young but they’re centuries old. I think I saw a dead tree with blue rings in its fallen trunk. Must be opals.”
Rez gasped excitedly. Umani smiled wider. “What do you want to do with opals, Rezy?”
Rez only smiled cheekily at her.
6
Exiled Saps settled in the Waking Wood. Although there were not many of them nor were the fighting type, they were clever. Only they could navigate these woods without getting caught in the twisting floras. The Harps saw Saps bearing little to no threat thus let them venture the Black Basin if they wish. There were not many Sap exiles to begin with. Eighteen years in exile, Oralech had only met three in proper. The establisher of Hollowroot, Manley Tinderstauf and Volfred. None of them were immediately likable.
- Manley Tinderstauf was born an aristocrat. A silver tongue; a pain in the ears. He was young in Sap terms; probably the same age as Gareph or older if he were human. A flatterer he was, words play best with him than physical actions.
The other members of the Chastity radiate boastfulness themselves. The nomad Peyford regarded the demon’s band like a butler, with grace yet smug. The Harp Xaxiana glared at them to no end, specifically to Rez who was happy to find another Harp he recognised. The old wyrm-knight Sir Tidemont declared a newfound respect, whatever that meant. The Savage Avrec seemed unfitting personality-wise but he was no different. The Chastity improved since last Oralech met them. More teamwork and trusting with one another. Manley finally found people who tolerated him well (mirroring him, too).
After night training, they shared dinner. Oralech made sure he did little intact with Manley who waded into the woods to retrieve opalized wood Rez requested. Same said with his Harp teammate.
Apparently Avrec and Gareph knew each other. The older Savage was a repetitive uninvited patient always on the run because of his schemes. He was also a painter. The boy Rez lightened up upon hearing that. The Savage’s companions tensed as he detailed further into a painter’s passion.
Oralech let him and Rez talk. The boy wanted friends—this was an opportunity for him. But he should not be close. On the next cycle, he might lose them. On the next cycle, the boy may only have the three of them as his only friends.
Avrec’s boisterous voice pulled the demon from his thoughts. “You folks want to know why they sent me down here?”
His teammates were mortified. “Avrec, no—!"
“I made nude portraits of the Archjustices!”
Silence fell through. Sir Tidemont put his tail over his head. Peyford slumped his shoulders and shook his head. Gareph stared at the other Savage, mouth agape. The fish in Iq’sa jaw fell to the ground. Rez tilted his head. Oralech felt his eye twitched. Of all ridiculous crimes, this one may definitely reach the top list of indecency. This and Barker’s crime. He should fit well with the Dissidents. How—in the loving life—did he join Manley’s band?
Gareph broke the awkward silence. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not!” the other Savage replied in triumph. “I even made some redraws for your info—”
Peyford cut him off, “When and why did you do redraws?”
“This old knight would rather tolerate squabbling judges…” muttered Tidemont.
“Aw, come one, guys, it’s not like I became a peeping tom to get the details right.”
“How is that not any more uncomfortable?!”
“No wonder Granma forbid you from coming to our clinic...”
“Hey!” wined Avrec.
Small tugs on Oralech’s sleeve. The demon turned to his side and found Rez’s innocent face pouring out confusion. “Oral… What iz nuude?”
The gears in the demon’s mind screeched to a halt. A child’s curiosity is unbeatable. Their innocence even more so. Anyone willing to destroy these traits from a child deserved a fist to their skull, Oralech himself was not exempted. However, such questions from children could still bewilder him.
“Nude means,” Oralech said to Rez. “not wearing clothes at all.”
Rez blinked. “No’ unnn-derwear?”
“No. Not even underwear.”
The boy scrunched his face and turn to the three Chastity members. “Why you draw nuuh’de?”
Avrec lit up but Peyford’s hand flew to his mouth before he could complete his sentence. “Why, young man, that’s because—HMPH!”
“Hush up, Avrec, he’s a kid!”
“This old knight agrees!” Sir Tidemont added his tail over Peyford’s hand with an audible slap. The nomad winced painfully. “Cease your tale of ‘triumph’ in front an innocent one, dear Avrec!”
“Tide, that hurt!” Peyford whispered sharply.
“Muffhuh brah!” muffled Avrec.
Gareph quickly scooted away from the Chastity. He sat next to Rez and suggested it’s time to leave for the night. Oralech nodded. Iq’sa agreed. Suddenly Rez shot up from his seat, his head collided with Gareph’s chin and Oralech’s longer horn, almost knocking them both backwards. Iq’sa fluttered in shock. The boy did not notice what he did except for the Chastity’s Harp who swoop to a landing from across the campfire.
“Xaxi!”
Xaxiana gave more glares rather instead a simple regard to the boy’s excitement. She glared at the quartet then to her squabbling teammates. She rolled her eyes. “I was gone for half an hour and you three just had to bicker for the whole Downside to hear.”
Avrec pulled Peyford’s hand down. “You’re the one who bickered for all to hear.”
Xaxiana tensed and stalked towards her Savage teammate. The remaining two Chastity released him and scooted some space. “You eavesdropping with those ears of yours again, Avrec?”
Avrec put his hands up and leaned back, cautious but unafraid. “I just overheard, Xaxi, I mean no offence.”
“Whatever,” she scoffed. She turned towards Rez with a filled pouch on her wing-thumb and threw it at him. “Here. Opals for one wonderous … fledgling. Don’t lose them.”
Oralech did not like how she said ‘wonderous’. He sensed Gareph’s and Iq’sa’s respite melted away with his. Not Rez. He was on cloud nine when he caught the pouch. Now was the perfect time to tuck him to bed. However, Manley just had to return before they could.
“Now, now, it would be rude to leave without us giving our thanks. How about we celebrate for tonight, hmm? A few cups of brandy—tea for the young one—and prayers so we, the Chastity, have a greater chance to enter the Fall of Soliam.”
The Sap went on and on about how he would aid his triumvirate and Oralech’s if he regains his freedom. He made ‘if’ sounded ‘when’. The overconfidence was as irritating as expected. This Sap never changed.
Minutes went by and the boy started to squirm in his seat. “Ca’hn we goooo?” he whined and pulled Gareph’s arms.
Oralech got up, signalling his group. “We will leave for the night. Gareph, Rez, go on in.” The two humans wade back to their Blackwagon. The demon and Iq’sa bid the other triumvirate goodnight and turn to follow when Manley spoke up.
“You look very, very familiar.”
Oralech froze.
“I recognise that scarf on your horns. A physician exiled two years after me wore a scarf with the exact same patterns as yours. Sclorian’s roots, to hear that he has risen back from the dead—I’d recognise him straight away! But you have it, hmm? It looks far too similar to be a copy and quite old, too. Care to tell where you get it?”
Oralech felt his blood rising; he eased it down. Lose your temper and Manley will realise the truth.
Fortunately, the Sap’s teammates voiced out how they should tuck for the night as well (though subtly) before all suddenly became into a full-blown argument session. The demon took the opportunity and head to his makeshift home.
He caught Gareph pulling a blanket atop of the boy who was already curled up with his eyes closed as if he became a baby. Oralech’s chest twinge.
“I hope the plan will go smoothly,” Gareph whispered to Oralech.
“Of course,” replied the demon. It has to.
“Are you alright, sir? I noticed you’ve been … out of sorts when certain things are mentioned.”
“Worry not about me.” Do not get close. Do not open your heart. “I will take first watch. Sleep well, Gareph.”
The Savage made a face. He was not entirely convinced, but he said “Alright. Goodnight, sir,” and blew out the candles in the room.
Oralech distracted himself by calculating further into the Chastity. In the end, his mind kept replaying Avrec’s pride with his crime which oddly brought up the disturbing moments that happened in the military. Some soldiers sometimes would sneak a time to be intimate. It disgusted Oralech to this day. Pointless war or not, people were counting on their lives on them. The worse place they chose to do it was in the infirmary. Oralech once gave a couple a large fright, they yelled at him for everyone to hear, forgetting his authority and received severe punishments the next day.
He almost chuckled at the memory. Then his mind lingered at the mention of infirmary, followed by hospitals and wards.
What had happened to the patients who were treated under his name? Have they healed? Have they gone home? Have those with terminal illness improved? If they didn’t, were their final moments peaceful?
And those who worked with him – supported him – what did the Commonwealth do to them? Maybe they hid their likeness towards him. Maybe they feigned ignorance of his intensions. Maybe they finished the jobs he left behind before going into hiding. Maybe the Commonwealth spared them, having lost their chief-physician they would not want to toss more doctors into life sentence.
Enough. Just, enough.
There was no point in lamenting. It’s almost twenty years. Those people were long gone. Either alive, free, exiled, or have gone to rest. They moved on from him.
He was called Traitor after all.
Why would any nation forgive a traitorous doctor?
7
Everything hurt. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think right. The cold atmosphere seemed to pummel more and more than his body could bear. He was going to die when he was supposed to be free. Free from the sprouting horns on his head. Free from the Downside. And then ending the war in the Above, freeing the people.
Why, Erisa? Was his promise to end the war not enough to her?
Ti’zo… He must have dived straight after him. He never ventured down here. He did not like the cold. Will he find him?
Volfred… why did he just stand there? She was right next to him. He could have stopped her. Did he know what she planned to do?
The air blew ice cold knives into the open flesh on his face. It must have torn from the fall or from the impact. Hot white pain burned in his ribs, his back and his legs. The pain was too much. He must move. If the wounds won’t kill him, the cold will.
He must—He must—He must!
He could not and the world went empty.
He woke from what felt like a blink later. The cold was gone, replaced by comfortable warmth. His limbs felt stiff and heavy as though they had turned into stone. Instead, they were wrapped in layers of colourful cloths. Same said with his face, securing his jaw shut. A familiar smell of medicinal aroma filled the air. Was he back home? No. He remembered well. He fell. This cannot be the Commonwealth. Who would treat a newly returned criminal?
A racket started from where his feet were facing. Not mistaken from the voices there were a man, an imp and a bog-dweller.
“Let go off my hair! OW! I’m telling you, weird imp, we just have to wait!”
“Har Nya-nya-nyaah Raaaaghrr!!”
“Enough. Both of ye.”
“It—”
“Shraak!”
“—She started it!”
“We care naught who started it. If ye both wish to consume our voiceless tonic doth keep up the noise. Thee knows to act better when a patient restsssss.”
“Forgive me, Grandmother.”
“Hruum.”
For a moment, he thought Ti’zo had found him. Joy bloomed until he remembered the man calling the imp ‘she’. That man cannot be Lendel. The former constable would have left him to die. He also had a Southern-Bog accent, matching with the bog-dweller who was definitely not Pfrumta or any of the Withdrawn members. Who are you? He must have mumbled when said bog-dweller appeared suddenly at his beside him.
The foster grandmother and grandson introduced themselves as Nefarhyne and Gareph, exiled physicians. The imp was hailed from Mount Alodiel. A rarely spotted kind and yet, there she was. It was she who found him first.
They told him the full story when he can sit up on his own. The two were on a pilgrimage and wondered a bit further from the usual final stop at the Sclorian Shore. The imp, calling herself Iq’sa, led Gareph to where he lay. He was battered and losing so much blood. They thought he would not survive, but he did. He thanked the three sincerely. He then asked if they had seen the Nightwings around the mountain foot.
They must have been searching for him.
“I know a drive-imp with long blue horns, one of them bandaged. Have you seen him?” They did not.
“A sap with a symbol of a forked-star carved on his head. What about him? Did he pass by?” They gave the same answer.
“How about a moon-touched man with a lute?” There was nobody he described since they found him. Not even the Nightwings’ Blackwagon.
Oralech hoped they were wrong so he asked if they could wait by the entrance path to the Shore. The Nightwings should climb down any time soon since the Rites won’t begin until the calendar turns. They fulfilled his request and waited with him.
Days passed. Followed by weeks. Then a whole moon.
The foster family coaxed him to travel back southwards with them. At first, he protested, and waited for another few days. Not a single triumvirate Blackwagon came by. No imp with long blue horns, or a literate Sap, or the Lone Minstrel.
He struggled to hang on.
He spent his remaining days in recovery praying to the stars and the Scribes for his team to find him. He hoped time and again. They still had not shown. Before he knew it, the Rites began anew. He followed the foster grandmother and grandson on their pilgrimage with Iq’sa on his shoulder, hoping for his team to find him.
Then the stories reached him. One triumvirate was supposed to fight the Nightwings only for them to douse an empty pyre. Four other triumvirates experienced the same thing. Then the Tempers won their way to Liberation and was revealed the worse by the Gate Guardian: blood was spilled at the summit instead of an ascension. The anointed fell and his assailant paid the price. Their remaining teammates who were supposed to be with her counterpart had split up—disappeared in the purgatory.
Oralech gave up.
The Scribes never helped him. Their promised were mere words. Mere lies. The Rites were no path of redemption. What was the point of redemption if you deny everyone else theirs? Everything was a ton of crap. Lies! Lies all of them!
When there was no moon or stars—only the pain in his skull and feet—his brown hair becoming white—Oralech cursed and cursed and cursed those so-called deities he believed in. Tears wet his face as he fell into slumber.
8
It’s been years since he last visited the Sclorian Shore.
The place had not changed. It was still cold, serene and safe from howlers. Only exiles who prefer the chill settled here. A number of Harps trying to get a gist of feel of their old home. Curs whose fur were too thick for Jomuer Valley. Even a retired triumvirate member or more who prefer to stay behind in the Downside, watching the sacred mountain glow under a blooded moon. Watching a string of white shooting from its summit and into the heavens. Watching an exile free from this eternal prison. Towards home.
Oralech wondered how they feel not seeing it glow for years. He wondered more if the former triumvirate members even know who won their way to liberation only to hear that nobody went home for years. A former Fate member lived here. The current Fate members would visit her when they can. Speaking of them, he should meet up with Dalbert. That old Cur have more energy than his age ought to guarantee. Oralech hoped he took proper rests. His foster son should know that.
From a messenger from the Black Basin, the Withdrawn had won their way to Liberation. They flew pass Oralech’s band and, fortunately, Rez didn’t get sick. Molten Milithe would’ve smite her triumvirate carriers if she were to be alive. Especially their leader.
Before Udmildhe, the Withdrawn was held by a bog-dweller and a bunch of intelligent drive-imps. That was a very long time ago. The only one left who knew them was the establisher of Hollowroot who was exiled the same year with the mad cultist. Anyone could’ve guessed what the witch did to join the Rites. Her obsession meant her freedom was nothing. She will likely recast herself into exile if she were to win this cycle’s Liberation Rite. A waste of liberty.
Oralech hated to admit it but he vouched for one of Volfred’s lot to be free instead, whoever they were.
Sitting adjacent from the campfire, Oralech observed the heavens for stars he could not see. It would be a lot easier to tell if the Rite was commencing. Mount Alodiel would not glow until the Shimmer Pool flung open. Rez may have read the stars. May have. Who knew what the world looked like in his point of view? He probably has no idea how to describe it. Perhaps the ability has yet to manifest.
It has to…
Rez pops up from behind the demon. “Hey-Lloo!” He greeted with a wide smile.
“Hello, Rez.” Oralech replied, suddenly feeling lighter. “How fares you with the cold?”
“IT’s okay! It’z like back-uh home! Cold… Bu’ HERE haz ice. Home iz foggy. Very foggy … buh no ice!”
“Good to hear.” There’s no need to fuss him over the cold, then. “Where is Gareph and Iq’sa?”
Rez hummed with his lips sucked in. He was hiding a smile. “Inside wa’gon.”
“Both of them?”
“Bo’uh of ‘em.”
Odd… Iq’sa said she was to visit her kin. Gareph would have stayed indoors since he was accustomed to heat and humidity, not dry chillness. Those two sometimes bicker with each other when Oralech wasn’t present. Probably nothing.
“Nah nah, Orr-Rah.”
“Yes?”
“D’yoou have nee-Names?”
“Nicknames.”
“Yeah! Do yooou ha’Ve nih-names?”
He was not one to like nicknames. For a long while, people made fun of his name and used it for dirty jokes. His time in the military was worse. He grew out of it but it was still unsettling. The boy didn’t need to know that.
“What you call me are my nicknames,” the demon answered. Rez cocked his head and Oralech continued, “Oral, Orah, Ori. Those are my nicknames.”
Rez squinted his eyes as Oralech felt the boy’s presence seeping into his mind once more. Not again.
“Rez!” The boy jumped and the presence retreated. “You need to stop reading into people’s minds. How many times must I tell you this?”
He hardly noticed how he was about to tower over the boy, or that he was almost up on his hooves. Rez took a few steps back, and Oralech realised his mistake.
He knelt and gave a long sigh. “I have no means to scare you, but you need to control when you must Read into people. They are private. I’m sure you understand that.”
The boy looked down, fidgeting. “…Em sorr-Ry… Iz easier fo’R me to know-wu what ev’yone says when I Read… Like Mama. Mama hate to talk… Buh she want-ted to.”
A cold object slammed into the demon’s shoulders. Rez never mentioned his mother before. All Oralech knew was that he was raised by a Harpy matriarch, but the boy referred her as Machi. This ‘Mama’ must be his biological mother. The Highwings Remnants have likely abused her or else—though he refused to linger the theory since Rez was over the moon with his Harp sister.
“Your mother?” Oralech carefully asked.
Rez nodded but said no more.
Out of the dark, Iq’sa crashed into the boy’s chest. Rez fell and embrace the mountain imp, laughing. “Sassa!”
“Kree-ki-ki-ki!”
Gareph pondered towards them, unexpectedly gleaming under layers of clothing. “Hey, kid. Did you show him the thing?”
Rez’s giggling froze in a comical way. “Da’ thing?”
“Rez, the thing. The thing you want to give him these past weeks.”
“Oh! Tha’ thing!”
Oralech looked at the Savage man, curious himself. “What is this ‘thing’ now?” He only smiled at him from ear to ear.
Gareph and Iq’sa came outside. Encourage Rez to show the surprise. He reveals an opal pendant necklace for Oralech as thank-you gift. Saddened when string is too short. Oralech reassures he can find extensions somewhere.
“Ta da!!”
R: Want one more nickname?
O: *sighs* Alright. What’s in your mind?
R: *giggles, points at pendant and Oralech* Opal. Oral. Opal-leh!
O: …
G & I: *laughs*
R: Like it?
O: *shaking his head but smiles* That’s the nicest nickname anybody has ever given me. Not bad, boy.
Mountain glows. White string shoots up from mountaintop.
Oralech tuck Rez to bed. Went to his sleeping spot, detailing Rez’s thank you gift for him, couldn’t help but smile. He slept surprisingly peaceful that night.
Days later, the True Nightwings were testing their wagon’s flight mechanism and flew southward of the Downside. Rez’s joy in the flight filled their hearts. But deep within Oralech, his bitterness grew, and the bottle could barely hold it in.
.
.
.
-End chap 3