Chapter Twenty-One

‘The Nine Wardens watched for a time, allowing the humans to fend for themselves. However, it was quickly realized that they were a people of war. The Wardens below were made to contend with this problem.’ 

Caid wandered through the tunnels for longer than he should have. He knew he was going to Cros but didn’t know where within the district to start. Initially, he had thought the empty buildings would be the most likely area for the secret testing Rawn had referred to; it offered good places to hide.  

The mines near the mountains at the edge of the district were also likely possibilities to consider. There were countless areas where a sinister plan could be carried out, going unnoticed by the greater population.  

Caid still had every intention of surfacing, but with each step, his confidence shrank. It was as if the last couple of weeks had conditioned him to expect nothing but failure.  

His fall had been swift, as if someone had swept his feet from under him and he had landed on his back expelling every ounce of air inside his lungs. Now, he was lying on the ground, expending the last of his energy just trying to take deep heaving breaths before the sword fell into his chest.  

A few weeks ago, would have been a different scene, a different Caid. It was funny how things could change a person so quickly. A death, a sudden expulsion from a home, the draining of confidence from life and suddenly he was no longer the Caid he had always been. This Caid was a stranger. This Caid lost alley sword fights to Maddog, this Caid was being saved by small girls, and this Caid could barely drag himself to do what he set out to do. He was nothing like he once was.  

Caid could have dispelled Maddog without a second thought in that alleyway, but he couldn’t overcome his self-pity. He could have taken over the Wardens, making all this right, but he was trapped in loathing.  

Caid pushed up the grate that led into the city above ground pausing for a moment before he entered the heavy, smog-filled air above.  

Caid pulled the ventilator mask from his back pocket, strapping it over his face. That was all in the past. He was moving forward. There was something he could do now, and he was done hesitating to do it. How many times would he have to tell himself that?  

Caid took a last deep breath, pulling himself up to the surface and into the district of Cros.  

*** 

Seer Creft, once the envy of many a man, sat now in a small wooden chair with his hands chained behind his back, the envy of no man. Creft wiggled his fingers, trying to keep the blood circulating in them. Two or three times already, they had gone numb; the tingling that shot up his arm was very unpleasant.  

Creft watched Seer Pryce, who seemed to be impatiently awaiting something or someone. He alternately ran his hands through his hair and then clasped them behind his back, repeating the cycle over and over. He hadn’t spoken since placing Creft in the chair, but instead, had been staring off into the distance, as if thinking of something else.  

“Can I have some water?”  

Pryce startled. Even Creft was a little shocked at his own voice. He had no intention of speaking, but the words just fell from his mouth. 

Pryce walked over to the table, grabbing a small cup and taking it to Creft. When Pryce lifted the cup to Creft’s lips, he realized it wasn’t water but rather something much harsher and quite unpleasant¾a strong whiskey, maybe? Whatever it was, he wished now he’d never asked for a drink.  

Creft spat, feeling his tongue going numb under the effects of the liquid. Pryce gave a chuckle.  

“I suppose I do take it quite strong,” he said, draining off the rest of the cup without as much as a wince.  

Creft spat on the ground again, wondering if he should be thankful he at least had saliva now to spit or if he was more displeased at ever having tasted the vile liquid.  

Pryce returned the cup to the table, resuming his position between the two tables. He was more alert now, moving his eyes across the room and even once or twice checking his pocket watch.  

Creft wondered what time it was. He wondered what day it was. He doubted Pryce would carry a conversation with him about it, and honestly, he could do without hearing Pryce’s voice again. This man had captured him in his own home, burned everything he had owned, and then banished him from society in the dark recesses of his dungeons. Pryce had shown no compassion for his fellow seer. Creft was merely a means to some end. He had stood in Pryce’s way, threatening his coal business, which seemed to be at the root of this entire mess. Creft swallowed again, the nasty taste still lingering in the back of his throat making him gag a little.  

Pryce gave an audible sigh, walking toward a wooden door in the back corner of the room. Creft was about to be alone again, which he preferred to Pryce’s company.  

Before Pryce reached the door, it opened, and Creft felt his heart jump with a mixture of fear and hope. Could it be someone like Creaton coming to save him? More than likely, it was just another of Pryce’s cronies who came to make sure the chains were tight enough. 

Whoever it was, the door opened slowly, and even Pryce stepped back a few feet. Had he been expecting this visitor? Was this person the reason for all his impatience?  

When the door opened, two figures walked in, their faces hidden under hooded robes. Pryce clasped his hands together in front of his midsection.  

“Ah, you have finally arrived,” he said to the two men.  

Only one man took off his hood, the other paid no attention to Pryce, grabbing a chair he pulled it across the room and sat down far from Creft.  

Creft recognized at once the man who had taken down his hood was Scholar Taluva, Head Scholar of the Ruvian University. Creft couldn’t help but turn his eyes back to the other man who sat quietly, without moving. Something about him was familiar, but Creft didn’t get more of a chance to detect what it was.  

“Let us get started,” Taluva said, turning to Creft. “Glad you could join us.”  

*** 

Cros had always been a district Caid looked to avoid. He couldn’t imagine anyone enjoyed the snug fitting mask or the way it felt like something was sitting on his chest when he tried to breathe. He also tended to believe anyone living in this dark and dreary place had to be constantly depressed. Everything here was sharp-angled, dark, and covered in mining dust. Not to mention the smell of oil and gas mixing made the air quite toxic.  

Caid reached up, readjusting his ventilator, although it was uncertain, they were even fully effective. 

After Pryce’s recent speech, Caid half expected Cros would be filled with loud mobs and violence. As it turned out, his expectation was vilified. Cros’s streets filled with every mining man and woman from all districts of Maralay. Here, they gathered to shout obscenities, harassing anyone who walked by without joining in.  

Caid watched a group of three slaves trek up the pathway, knowing before they even reached one such rowdy group, they would be counted among the losses.  

“I bet you all would love to see our mines shut down, wouldn’t you?” said one man, jumping into the direct path of the slaves.  

As slaves had been taught to do for hundreds of years, they said nothing and didn’t make direct eye contact with anyone. The man moved closer to them, knowing he had nothing to fear from the docile red-marked slaves. His friends, seeing his actions, rushed in behind him, spreading out in a ring.  

Caid watched from his vantage point. He could do nothing for these three, not if he wanted to find out what was going on in Cros. If he saved them, then others would show up and he would be exposed and hunted.  

“I bet you would love to see me poor and hungry, wouldn’t you?” the man said to the slaves. The surrounding others all reaffirmed his words with whoops and hollers. Still, the slaves said nothing, staring at the ground.  

Caid sighed, turning away as he heard the first strike that sounded like a wet smack, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground. Caid glanced back over his shoulder, seeing one harasser had thrown a particularly large piece of coal at the slaves. The man who it struck was now on the ground, bleeding from the side of his eye.  

Caid told himself again he could do nothing for them, if he planned to help the city. Whatever was going on in Cros had excited Rawn, and that meant it was important to everything going on. Yet, Caid still felt the urge to run his sword through the group of men and women who berated the slaves.  

The man who had done the talking stepped forward and kicked the downed slave in the side of his head. None of the others did anything to stop him, probably hoping without hope they would be able to return home.  

Caid swallowed hard, an image of Alis popping into his mind. Could this have been her? This poor slave lying on the ground could have just as easily been the girl he had grown so fond of. The unwelcome feeling of cowardice arose in Caid’s chest. Alis would have saved him if the roles were reversed. She wouldn’t care about the consequences, and that was what made her the brave girl she was. Caid felt his hands clench.  

The man kicked the slave again, and the group laughed. Caid closed his eyes. He had promised Alis he would help the slaves fight back, had he not? This was part of his promise. He said he would lead them and wasn’t part of leading protecting those who were weaker?  

Caid gathered some energy into him. He heard another grunt followed by more laughter.  

Caid was among them. The group shrieked. None of them had the time to get away. Caid used his sword’s blunt-ended handle as he moved like the wind through the group of men and women. He wouldn’t kill them, but they would all feel his wrath. Each body crumpled, still breathing but unable to move.  

When Caid slowed, he turned toward the two standing slaves. “Gather your man and get home.”  

The slaves, still too afraid of making eye contact, said nothing, grabbing the fallen man and making their way down the street and out of sight. Caid slid his sword back into his belt loop. For better or worse, he had taken his spot.  

*** 

Taluva¾as it turned out¾didn’t care if Creft was ready. He walked over to the table, producing an old bound book from his robes. Creft strained to see the title of the book from the distance, but all he could tell was it had seen much use and the cover was decaying.  

Taluva flipped a few pages, then settled on one, prodding it with his index and middle fingers.  

“This is it, Pryce, this is the passage we have been looking for. All this time, and now we have the power to bring it closer.” Taluva smiled, turning toward Pryce.  

Pryce eagerly fished around in his pocket for something, his powerful and intimidating facade falling away. When he finally stopped rummaging through his pocket, his smile grew bigger.  

“This is the gift that the Wardens have given us.” Pryce turned to Creft. “Well, one of the gifts; we couldn’t do this without you, Creft.”  

Taluva stepped closer to Pryce, holding out his hand. “Let me see it,” he said.  

Pryce’s smile faded away, as if he had changed his mind about revealing what he held.  

“Pryce,” Taluva said louder as Pryce continued hesitating. Pryce drew out his hand. “Thank you,” said Taluva.  

Pryce held a small vial, but Creft wasn’t close enough to see what it contained. He could tell something swirled inside it as if the substance was alive.  

Taluva reached out, grabbing the vial and holding it high in the air and toward the light. Creft could see it better now, he still couldn’t identify the substance or determine what it might do. The liquid shifted in color and was so bright it dazzled. What had the Wardens given them and what was it capable of?  

Creft watched as Taluva turned the vial in his fingers a few more times before lowering it. He stepped back to the table and began reading.  

Creft glanced over to the other robed man in the room, who still sat like a stone statue. He had not said a word to the others and kept the hood up over his head. Creft wondered again at the man’s familiar body language; there was something about his posture that Creft thought he recognized.  

Creft jumped involuntarily, screaming as Pryce came at him so fast that it almost seemed impossible.  

“Boo,” Pryce laughed. Then, with his other hand, drew out a knife, holding it to Creft’s throat. “Blood given for the cause,” Pryce said. 

*** 

Caid slipped into a side alley, off the main pathway. He had left the unconscious bodies lining the road and Caid hid in the alleyway, hoping the envoy wouldn’t pick up his trail.  

Caid waited about ten minutes before starting off again. Caid climbed a small adjacent building, pulling himself up onto the rooftop. Cros was limited in warden paths, as the Wardens very rarely had reason to enter Cros.  

From his new vantage point, Caid could see a few blocks in each direction, beyond that was mostly smog. He saw nothing more than what he had expected¾bands of people walking with makeshift weapons. He saw no children roaming the pathways. The children seemed to be the only smart ones, hiding away from the throng of misguided common folk.  

Caid scanned in all directions, looking for even the slightest clue what Rawn and Maddog had been talking about, but he found nothing except mobs of people.  

Caid expected that while Cros was downtrodden and had spots of unruly mobs, it would probably be quite tame compared to the more populated districts. He shuddered to think what Parian, Eridian, or Helios looked like with the threat of civil war looming. He assumed the envoy would be quite busy trying to keep the peace and that the holding cells in the public squares would be full.  

Traveling across the rooftops, Caid stopped as he entered Cros’s populated section. The houses here stretched higher than those in the rest of the district, the highest house being Pryce Manor. Built into the side of the mountains, it was almost shielded from the incessant smoke coming from the lower mines and coal burning facilities.  

Caid wondered whether the manor was the place he searched for. Something drew him toward it; something told him it was where he needed to start.  

Caid jumped down into the streets of the housing section, running across the division between old Cros and new Cros. In new Cros the air was better but still not good enough to breathe without the ventilator. Approaching the first low-hanging roof, Caid hoisted himself up. It was an old warden habit, which would probably never die.  

All was quiet. The violent mobs had constrained themselves to the working sections¾as if they had no desire to taint where they lay their heads. 

Caid looked out over the hundreds of homes, focusing on the faraway image of Pryce Manor, the home of Seer Pryce. Caid decided Pryce Manor was his starting point. There was something ominous about that place, and Caid would get in there and find out what it was.  

*** 

Creft struggled uselessly against the liquid Taluva forced down his throat. The amber liquid immediately gave his body a buzzing, tingling sensation.  

“You shouldn’t have cut him so deep,” Taluva said.  

Pryce was still twirling the blade around in his fingers, completely disinterested in Taluva’s admonishment.  

“He squirmed, it tends to happen when they squirm,” he said as if he had been skinning an animal after a hunt rather than cutting a human being.  

 “Now we have to feed him this to keep him from passing out, and it is taking up precious time.”  

Taluva finally pulled the cup away, and Creft gasped for air. It felt as if he had not breathed for far longer than the seconds it had lasted. 

Pryce twirled the blade in his hand one more time before shoving it into his belt loop, still covered in Creft’s blood. Then he pulled out the vial in which he had captured a fair amount of Creft’s blood.  

“We got what we wanted, and he is fine. Now, let us carry on and quit bickering.” Pryce threw the vial to Taluva, who nearly dropped it but recovered it before it hit the ground.  

“Be careful,” Taluva said, “Creft isn’t going to be able to withstand another attack from your blade.”  

Pryce looked to Creft and shrugged his shoulders, almost daring Creft to say something about his handiwork, but Creft said nothing.  

“On to step two,” Pryce said excitedly.  

Taluva stepped back to the book, his finger moving slowly across the black text. When he finished reading, he turned to Creft.  

“Well, the last two ingredients are already present, it seems,” he said.  

With a quick movement of his wrist, he swiped the vial across Creft’s face twice and then stoppered it back up.  

Creft was even more confused by this. 

Taluva took the vial Pryce had given him earlier, putting it next to the vial he had just filled from Creft.  

“Now we infuse it,” he said.  

Taluva went back to the table, flipping the pages of the book. He was quiet for what seemed like a long time. Creft’s body was still reacting to the liquid that had been forced down his throat. Whatever it was, he prayed to the Nine Wardens he’d never be subjected to it again.  

Pryce walked over to Taluva, trying to read the passage over his shoulder. Taluva held up his hand, shooing Pryce away like an incessant child. Pryce looked impatient, but he moved away without putting up a fight.  

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Taluva turned around and addressed Pryce.  

“It is time to complete what we have started. What the Nine Wardens above have kept imprisoned for so long will now be ours.” Taluva stepped forward, putting one of the two vials on the ground. The other, he kept tightly grasped in his hand.  

“One to call, and the other to contain,” he said.  

Then, without another word, he closed his eyes, throwing the vial in his hand on the ground.