Chapter Twelve

Being able to travel light wasn’t an issue for Secrat Copé. It helped that, more or less, the only things he had to his name were his flask and a few knives. They weren’t even the special knives that Father Toucan Veras had made for him. Those had been used up long ago on a certain Hunter and his wolves. Instead, these ones were sharpened stones with vine wrapped around them to make a hilt. After their heist at the Aer Festival, he would have more than enough money to buy some proper weaponry from a blacksmith. Who knows, maybe he and Father Toucan Veras would be able to patch things up and finally move on and he would make knives for him again. He wasn’t holding his breath, however.

Everybody else was also able to make do with little. What they had could be carried on their person. Some food was loaded up in the wagon, but it would only last a day or two for normal stomachs. They brought the essentials, and if they needed more, it would be hunted for or bought at the festival.

Father Toucan hadn’t been lying when he said he had been planning this escapade for some time. He had proper clothing already bought for each of them, grab from Italina, Acera, Urgway, Hardan, and Jalint, all customized with additional pockets and protection. They had to be particular about who wore what. It would have been preferable if they could have all wore Italina clothing. It would have looked like they all belonged there. Unfortunately, clothing wasn’t all it took to belong. Samuel Syi had skin as dark as the darkest man from Jalint, and none of the rest of them had pale enough skin to belong to Italina either. All except for Secrat Copé. It was one of the only upsides to growing up in the poor districts of Italina – his skin pigment looked as pale as the richest nobleman.

The trip wouldn’t be painstaking, as Father Veras had said, they would arrive with days to spare before The Aer Festival. With horses, they would arrive just outside Italina in about a day and a half.

As they rode in the wagon, Secrat couldn’t help but feel like there was an unaddressed awkwardness occurring. As fate would have it, this was the same wagon carrying him before he killed Elson Mans.

His back was propped up against one of the walls, and opposite from him was Brutus Ess who was grouchily sighing after each rickety bump the wagon endured. Samuel Syi was at the front, in the carriage, watching over and navigating the horses with the reins. Lukas Lewis was sitting to Secrat’s right, some ways away, sitting beside another of the Elite thieves. To the left of Brutus, on the side closest to the horses, was another of the young trainees. Secrat had sat down in the wagon without saying a word, in fact, no one had said anything for a good while. It was early and without much breakfast in their bellies, no one felt especially talkative. All they could do for now was listen in on the ruckus of the wagon wheels atop the dirt, tumbling over tree roots and rocks and whatever else. That, and enjoy the sights of the scenery around them as it changed ever so fast. But, for now, nobody said anything. At least not until they came to a stop.

Secrat dug his fingers down into the wood, the memories of it were not lost on him. There were memories he knew likely weren’t lost on Lukas Lewis either.

As the wagon began to slow, one by one all of the thieves made it up to their feet. They had spent the last few hours in silence but Secrat could tell that the tension was beginning to lighten up a bit. Samuel Syi stepped out from the carriage and walked over to the wagon. It was customary for the head Elite to be held to a high standard and treated with the utmost respect. However, as Samuel stepped onto the wagon, he discovered Brutus Ess had already dug into the supplies early and his teeth were now gnawing on some bread. The bread had been kept in small crates, along with the rest of the food, dressed with a tarp over each.

If it were Father Veras, the reaction would have been swifter and harsher, luckily Samuel Syi was not Father Veras. Instead, he simply smiled.

“I don’t suppose you could have waited,” Samuel said.

Brutus stopped his eating, holding a chunk of bread in his mouth. The longer the pause of silence between them went, the more the chunk of bread began to split in two, until, finally, it broke in half, with the stray piece following out from Brutus’ mouth and bringing a string of slobber with it.

“I have you know I waited several, … several seconds,” Brutus Ess fired back, more than a little defeated.

There wasn’t much coming back from that visual with ones’ integrity kept intact.

“The Red Flux has an image to uphold,” Samuel replied coolly.

“Who is it that fed you those lies? I mean it, who told you that, because I would like to bop them on there head for it. Our image is the scummiest of scum.”

“True, but that doesn’t mean we have to be the rudest of scum,” Syi replied, letting out a soft chuckle as Brutus handed him his loaf of bread.

“I think I will go ahead and get my own, thanks.”

All of them each became seated again once the bread was handed out. The taste wasn’t the best, but it’d be filling enough until they arrived, coupled in with slabs of beef, it got the job done.

Secrat watched Ess continue to dig his teeth into the sandwich. Soon, Ess would be satiated and adjust to his normal self, now with food in his belly. Although, his regular demeanor was only a little less ill tempered.

Lukas Lewis leaped out from the wagon without saying anything to anyone. No one said anything to stop him or inquired about where he was headed, they simply watched as he stepped out and walked further into the forest. Secrat looked back over inside the wagon at the rest of the troupe. Brutus Ess stared over at him. This might have been the first time Secrat could recall Brutus acknowledging his existence since Secrat was taken out from The Red Flux.

“That boy really hates you, you know?” Brutus remarked.

The way he said it felt more like a blunt statement than a question or judgment.

“I made a terrible mistake and all I am looking to do is repent for what I have done and the people I have harmed,” Secrat Copé replied.

He had rehearsed his lines many times by now. The truth was that killing Elson Man felt no different than killing Azlak Temps, or more accurately, killing the man he had once thought to be Azlak Temps. Such an act always felt the same. Still, he still felt some level of guilt at his mistake, but opted not to dwell on it. Father Veras apparently expected him to join the church, discover God, and tattoo Elson Man’s name on his chest, torturing himself for the rest of his life. Secrat had no intention of doing that, but he could at least play the part.

“Lukas Lewis isn’t cut out to be made a thief. You need to have thick skin for this line of work. You can’t be the ultimate sinner and expect to come out a saint – he wants to be a great man, but you can’t be, not if you’re a thief,” Brutus Ess said matter of factly, chomping down on a second loaf of bread.

“Father Veras believes you can be a great man and be a thief. He expects it, actually,” Secrat Copé replied.

“I could tell you a lot of things about Father Toucan Veras,” Brutus Ess began, but was swiftly interrupted.

“Brutus,” Samuel Syi said.

“All I will say is this, Father Veras is a wise enough man to know that we aren’t a challenge to the form. If we have the option to steal the belongings from a man who has nothing or a man who has everything, we’d choose the second, but out of morality, we’d do it out of practicality. As for Lukas Lewis, guy needs to grow a pair and get thicker skin, at the rate he is at, his skin could be sliced by an opportunistic blade of grass.”

Secrat smirked but regained himself. There were times when Brutus could become particularly mouthy in the bar, but even then his sharp tongue wasn’t pointed at Father Veras.

“People die,” Brutus answered, despite no one having asked a question. He stopped a moment to let the declarative statement sink in. “The fact is, Lukas barely even knew Elson. They may have been chums for a month or two, but he didn’t know him, not like I did. If I can get over what you did, he should be better by now. Me, I was better by breakfast. It is not that he is bothered by Elson’s death, but that he is bothered by death itself. Well, I tell you what, he best get comfortable with it.”

“You weren’t exactly the best of friends with Elson, however,” Samuel Syi countered, sitting down in the middle of the wagon with his back leaned against the crates. “Elson Man’s murder made Father Veras angrier than I had ever seen him. I understand that it was an accident,” Samuel said, looking over to Secrat. “I even understand that it could have been any of us. All the stories we hear about clans that traffic and torture their victims, Secrat fought as though he were fighting for his life, and that is exactly how he was taught. At the same time, Secrat took one of our own and that is a mistake that can’t be undone. Yet, it is Lukas Lewis who is the one who feels shut off from the rest of us.”

“Correct me if I am wrong, but I was the one who was exiled from the troupe for months and has spent the last three months earning back what was taken from me – taken from me for doing what you just said any one of us would have done,” Secrat fired back, unable to let Samuel Syi’s words go unnoticed.

“Toucan has been far angrier than that, I will tell you that much for certain. If he were really angry then this fella wouldn’t be standing here with us,” Brutus said, motioning to Secrat.

“Perhaps,” Samuel added.

For a moment, it seemed as though he wanted to say something else or offer a rebuttal, but his passiveness restrained him.

“A loss of innocence and the loss of a friend, I can only hope that time will heal his wounds. Time will bring forgiveness faster than anything I could ever do,” Secrat said with a somber inflection.

Samuel Syi nodded at Secrat Copé. His dark skinned face never looked angry, frustrated, or even annoyed, but it did look sad. Samuel climbed out of the carriage and started his way toward wherever Lukas Lewis was headed, leaving Copé and Ess with the other thieves.

The other remaining Elite thief was a man named Marc Sero. He was, from what Secrat could tell, a keep to himself fellow that didn’t talk very much or step out of line. He was a lot like Lukas in that sense, the only difference was that Lukas could be friendly or even, on rare occasion, to the right person, likable. Lukas could be sociable as well under the right circumstances, whereas Marc Sero only spoke a word when he had to. Marc Sero was a capable fighter, however, and was known for often boasting during combat. That was where he felt most comfortable, he seemed. Secrat could relate on some level – he too felt more empowered in a moment of action or during a heist.

The other thief was somebody that Secrat had seen around before but had never bothered to learn the name of. He was a round faced boy with a small, but protruding stomach. Brutus Ess’ gut was attained from alcohol, but this boy looked like he had simply let gluttony get the better of him. He was a boy. That was the best way Secrat could think to describe him. His brown hair was even and tidy at the front. he had a small stubble of facial hair at the bottom of his chin.

Secrat couldn’t help but wonder why Father Veras had decided such a boy was equipped enough to accompany them on such a mission. He thought back to Veras’ speech claiming they had only now attained a fit enough crew for such a task and struggled to decipher how the boy fit in such a sentiment. Chances were Father Veras’ speech was only meant to instill confidence in their ability and not a testament to his own confidence in their abilities – Father Veras was as manipulative as they came after all.

Secrat Copé climbed out of the wagon and dropped off to the ground. He felt the green grass under his feet. The sky was without denigration from the clouds yet the smell of damp grass washed ashore Secrat’s nostrils. Morning dew had a magical existence more curious than all of the Aeonians combined. The Thief stretched out his legs; they ached. He hadn’t been on his feet very long, but the hurt would leave him soon.

He was uncertain of their location. He knew it was obviously someplace between Acera and Italina but that was the gist of it. With time to kill, he wondered if Samuel Syi may have taken them on a detour while he was at the reins. The soil beneath some of the grass was about as dark as charcoal. That implied they were nearer to Acera and perhaps even Urgway than they were Italina. Agriculture was a necessity to Acera and was all that Jalint had to offer except for a faster route to Urgway.

Once they neared Italina, they would see the soil become brighter and fainter at the blink of an eye. In Italina, there was essentially no means for fertilization. Even some the plants that could be seen strewn about the city were decorative and fake.

From afar, Copé could see Lukas Lewis leaned up against one of the trees not too far off, speaking to Samuel Syi. He’s having one of his episodes, Secrat thought.

Besides the wet grass, The Thief could also smell something very distinctive in the air. Beyond the smell of leaves and the dirt, he smelled the freshness of it all, he could even smell the saltiness of the Amisoic Seas. The Seas wrapped around all of Maharris, and in some areas, the Seas extended to small creeks and lakes throughout the Unprotected Wilderness. Secrat followed the smell. his legs marched through the bushes and twigs, crackling some of them and sweeping through others. He could hear the loud hissing noises from beetles climbing on a nearby tree. That, and there were crickets hopping about.

Copé stopped as he met a creek. The water was a slight greenish tint and the rocks led a path as the creek became deeper and deeper. It was deep enough to submerge his body to his waist. The creek went on for as far as his eyes could see and the width from his side to the next exceeded his height and then some. Secrat dropped down to his knees near the rocks and held one of the stones in his hands. He felt the weight of it, holding it in the palm of his hand. Then, he chucked it into the creek and watched it skip through the water and make a splash.

There was the distinct sound of thick footsteps behind him, but he didn’t turn around to see who it was. Brutus Else walked with such an oomph that it was easy to distinguish his presence from everybody else. Unless it was a bear.

Secrat hoped that it wasn’t a bear.

“It wasn’t exactly true what I said back there,” Brutus said.

“About which part?” Secrat asked, throwing his eyes over to Ess.

By now, Secrat had since reached down for another rock. He fidgeted with the stone in his hands. He rested it in his palms and wrapped his fingers around it, finding a small amount of comfort.

“If I am being honest, I have never seen Veras angrier than the night he found out what you had done. And, believe me, I have made him fairly angry over the years.”

Brutus walked neared to Secrat. His haggard body moved damn near like a snail, but Copé didn’t pay it much mind in this moment. Soon, Brutus Ess dropped down to his bottom beside Secrat, without grace, he landed, several rocks tumbling down off from the creek’s edge and into the water.

“It was a mistake.”

“Nobody is doubting that, not even Veras is doubting that it was a total accident. But the whole thing did burrow into his skin, like a worm festering through the dirt. You see, that is a man with thick skin. His skin is as thick as it comes. But the simple thought that you could betray him or this troupe, even as a mistake, was enough to send him over the edge.”

Secrat said nothing. He looked down at the stone in his hands like a nervous child being lectured by an adult.

“When Veras looks at you, he sees something special. He has for a long time, in fact. You are practically his son for crying out loud! But, to see you fail like that, that is something I didn’t think he would be able to move past.”

“I never asked to be held to a higher standard than …”

“But it is that high standard that is what saved your ass, boy!” Brutus quipped. “That higher standard he holds you to does nothing but good for you. Tell me this, what would happen if, in some made up world, Lukas Lewis would have been in your situation? What would have happened if he would have killed Elson instead of you? If you had been the one so badly traumatized by it? Do you think Old Daddy Toucan would have let him come back?” Brutus Ess’ voice didn’t change throughout.

His voice was unsteadily loud but not because of anger but because of inebriation.

“Toucan Veras,” Secrat began, but then stopped, rethinking his words and finding his original choice had been wrong, “Father would have made for certain to have Lukas’ severed head on a pike.”

“That is right,” Brutus agreed.

Secrat looked down at the stone in his hands. He felt the weight of it. It was a lot to bear. And like last time, he once again chucked it out and into the creek.

“I can be everything Father wants me to be and more,” Secrat said, a smirk forming on his face at the thought of it.

Humility didn’t last him very long, and frankly, he figured everybody else already knew it to be true. His eyes went off the creek and over to Brutus, who smiled at him with amusement.

After a snort, Brutus exclaimed: “You might not share blood with Veras, but you are his son, that is for certain.”

Secrat’s eyes went back to the creek, but he flinched when he heard the rough sound of Brutus rising up to his feet. He turned and was met by the unpleasant sight of Brutus stripping out from his leggings. It wasn’t a very attractive sight, because, as described, Brutus was far from physically fit. His legs were like tree trunks and his stomach was round like a barrel. Brutus’ body was covered in hair. It had been a bear behind him after all, Secrat thought to himself.

“What exactly are you doing?” Secrat asked.

Secrat shielded his eyes from the burly fellow, now in discomfort. Even more than his grotesque physique, it was Brutus’ body hair that was most jarring and despicable. He had no patches of skin visible on his stomach and legs. Brutus was thankfully kind enough to leave on his black undergarments. Brutus flashed a smirk that struck The Thief as more terrifying than suave or good humored.

“Going in for a swim,” Brutus replied.

“Uh-huh, well, I wish you the best of luck with that,” Secrat said.

Brutus didn’t seem to fathom the sarcasm in Secrat’s voice, which was likely for the best. Instead, he backed away from the creek a short moment before running forward to make a leap. Splash! Brutus’ body flopped down into the water like a large boulder would. A ca-plunk sound followed, and a wave of water rushed out from the creek. Secrat hadn’t even thought to back away, and his attire was soaked as a result.

The water was cold. Although, shaded by the leaves, it was easy enough for Secrat to attune himself to – he did still shiver at first, however.

Brutus stayed under the water for a couple of seconds, Secrat hoping he had hit his head on an unexpectedly jagged rock. Soon, the top of his head began poking out from the top of the water. His long grayish hair revealed a large bald spot visible now that his hair was wet.

Copé crawled back from the creek while Brutus splashed around like a crazed baboon.

Secrat heard footsteps behind him; these belonged to Samuel Syi, behind him was Lukas Lewis. Samuel laughed, taking in the sight. Lukas looked at the whole spectacle with nothing short of apathy. In fact, Lukas didn’t even pay attention to it. He acted as though it was too close in vicinity of Secrat to take the risk. Secrat, on the other hand, looked down at the creek, feeling like a child might watching his father embarrass him. His Father, however, would never have stooped to such a lowly level.

“Do I even want to ask what he is doing?” Samuel asked, unable to hide his chuckling amusement.

Brutus paddled himself near the edge of the creek, bringing his head out from under the water and resting his forearms on dry land. His hair was drenched and looked almost comical, his smirk only added to the quirky, goofy visual.

“I figure we have time to kill,” he said.

Samuel nodded back at him, “And I suppose this is one way to do it.”

Samuel Syi walked forward and sat down a little further out than Secrat, his feet dangled off the edge of the creek and into the water. Lukas Lewis, on the other hand, remained standing, uncomfortably crossing both of his arms. Samuel seemed to take notice of Lukas’ discomfort as he turned and faced him for an instant: “I don’t suppose a swim would cool off the hot bloodedness you have going, am I wrong?” Samuel asked.

Lukas’ face reddened, but as much as he might have wanted to bite of Samuel’s head and spit it somewhere, he didn’t. Samuel watched over in quiet amusement until Brutus Ess brought attention all back on him. There was an unsettled splashing and rustling of his body beneath the water, but as the large man leaped his torso out into the open, he let something out of his hands and onto Samuel’s lap. Syi reacted about as any of them would. He flinched, but once he realized what it was, he couldn’t help but be impressed. The buffoon Brutus had gone ahead and caught himself a fish. The prodigious trout flopped across Samuel’s lap trying to make it back to the creek, but Samuel kept it from happening.