Light of Epertase 01: Legends Reborn (27 page)

He outstretched his fat and awkward tongue and then strained, with eyes crossed, to see it.

Rasi continued through the hall until he reached another set of doors, not as large as the main doors but big just the same. He reached for the steel, round handles. For the first time in years, his damaged shoulder didn’t ache when he moved. He felt young and strong. His neck hair and his straps rose in anticipation of the death he was sure awaited him.

“Come in, Rasi,” a chorus of voices echoed from within.

He entered what appeared to be his cave home on Shadows Peak. He squinted, wrinkling his forehead. They must have seen the confusion in his face because they said in perfect harmony, “You only see that which you know or desire.”

The men were old, white-bearded and frail. Their feet hovered above the ground. When they spoke again, they spoke as one. “You seek she who has The Light.”

“Yes, I do.” He still couldn’t believe his own voice and hardly recognized it.

Their united tones were melodies of beauty. They answered though he hadn’t asked. “Your tongue heals in our home because none who is broken can be so here.”

“And these creatures on my back? Why do I still wear them?”

Their answer was crushing and final. “They are not broken.”

Rasi stepped forward, confident yet agitated. “Do you know where she is?”

“Ahhhhh,” they echoed and trailed off in whisper. “We do not.”

Rasi turned away, frustrated, wanting to lash out. “Then why am I here?” he hollered.

“The Light chose you by choosing her. You must find her before it is too late.”

“That’s what I’m telling you. I’ve lost her trail.”

“Go to the town of Parson. Seek the man with punishment in his name.”

“Enough with the riddles. Just tell me who to find and I’ll find them and kill them. Please.”

“We do not see his name, therefore, we cannot tell you that which we do not know. You …” They paused and looked past him to someone who wasn’t there. “You must leave now. You have been seen and your slaughter awaits you from whence you came.” In unison, they lifted their fingers and pointed toward a blur of rock on the far wall. They said, “You must go through the exit not known if you hope to survive.”

Rasi walked toward the wall but stopped short like he somehow knew they hadn’t finished.

“Do not come back here uninvited,” they said. “Your next visit here will be your death.” They stared to the floor with soulless eyes while their images faded into little more than ghosts of statues.

Rasi poked the rock wall. His finger sunk like the wall was made of bread dough. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Not sure if freedom or pain awaited him, he dove against the wall. His stomach twisted. But when he opened his eyes, he found himself outside again with his back against the solid wall of the lair.

His mouth tingled, this time cold like ice. He breathed out a lung-emptying breath and dark ashes rose like burning paper from his mouth. Then, as quickly as it had come, his tongue was gone again, replaced by a familiar pain.

Across the way, a horse awaited its owner outside a local shop. Rasi crept to it, careful not to be seen. With no one watching, and plenty of guilt, he leaped onto the steed and fled.

East of the warehouse district sat a small town that Rasi had never visited, though he knew from his pre-Heathen War studies the town was named Parson. The late hour meant few places were open for food or information. He passed a crowded pub but kept walking; attention was what he desired least. A few dark doors farther along sat a small cottage with a single lighted window. As he walked closer, he read the sign: Parson Eatery.

Perfect.

He was hungry but more importantly, he sought information. If he couldn’t find what he needed in the eatery, he’d be forced to take his chances at the pub and he wasn’t too keen on that prospect.

His straps squirmed beneath his fur wrap; if anyone looked closely, they would no doubt have seen the wiggle. Rasi spotted a corner booth mostly hidden in shadows. With his head lowered, he made his way to it.

A waitress delivered a stale loaf of bread with a glass of warm, sulfur-tainted water. He was weary and happy to fill his belly.

“What do you want?” she asked.

Rasi held up a ripped chunk of bread and shook his head.

“That’s it?”

“Um-hm,” he answered, eyes fixed on the table.

“Very well,” she said, moving on to her next customer.

Two men at a center table sipped from their mugs. Their behavior and increasing volume left little doubt of what was in the mugs or how long the men had been at it.

It didn’t take long for Rasi to catch his first break. One of the drunkards blurted out, “Did you hear of the commotion out east?”

His buddy answered that he hadn’t.

The drunk continued with slurred speech, “You heard of that mercenary, Simcane?”

His friend nodded.

Rasi’s attention piqued. The connection was made. The Elder Three said a punishment.

A caning.

Let them talk.
They’d tell him everything if he listened.

The one drunk continued, “Well, someone roughed him up but good and left him for dead. Two days ago, Doc Eckels was summoned out to some old-timer’s farm to treat a stranger who was pretty close to death, the way I hear it.”

“And how did you hear it?”

“I don’t know. Doc must have told someone, who told someone. You know how secrets are around here.”

“Why would Simcane be here? The money’s in the big cities.”

“Who knows? When was the last time you read a book on how nearly indestructible psychopathic mercenaries behave?”

“Yeah, I guess. I’ll tell you this much. I wouldn’t want to meet the man who put a whuppin’ on that Simcane fella, that’s for sure.”

Rasi picked up his small bag, dropped a piece of silver on the table, and slipped out the side door, largely unnoticed. When his breath met the cold, he slipped his homemade mask over his mouth and nose and ducked into the shadows.

Probably three or four drinks later, the two drunkards stumbled from the front door, spilling into the dark street.

Rasi wasted no time and was upon them. His straps lashed out and lassoed the neck of one of the inebriated men before he could shout for help. The drunkard clawed at the strap as it hoisted him into the air like a hunk of meat dangling on a hook. He tried to cry out but no sound left his lungs.

Another strap slammed into the other drunkard’s face, knocking him unconscious before he hit the ground. Rasi scanned the streets for witnesses. Seeing no one, he dragged his prey into an alley.

The strap lowered the drunkard until he hovered face-to-face with Rasi’s snarl, a technique Rasi had found highly effective the few times he had an opportunity to use it. For added intimidation, he let a low rumble emanate from deep inside his gut.

Drop him,
he screamed in his head and his appendages unraveled from around the drunk. The man scurried against the side of the tavern. Rasi moved closer, his straps puffed out around him.

“Wait, wait, wait. What do you want?” the drunk cried.

Rasi knelt with a glare. He wrote two words into the dirt with his index finger.

“WHERE SIMCANE”

The putrid smell of urine filled the air and Rasi was disgusted by the man’s weakness.

The drunk rambled, seemingly unable to spill his guts fast enough. “Some farm … outside of town. That way.” He pointed east. “That’s all I know, I swear. Please don’t kill me.”

Rasi backed away, looked around for witnesses, and then disappeared along the side of the tavern.

As he traveled east along the edge of town, he glanced back toward Shadows Peak. Lightning flashed, illuminating the edges of his home. A low rumble of thunder followed the light show and Rasi allowed himself a slight grin. For once, he was watching the brutal mountain storms from a distance rather than being hammered by them.

Tevin forged onward along the narrow mountain path toward the top of Shadows Peak, his heavy fur draped over his head. The pupil-constricting flashes of white seared his eyes, leaving the path a blur. Each electrical explosion sent chills along his spine and he feared any one of them may send his heart into fibrillation. The lightning was simultaneous with the violent cracks of thunder that rattled his teeth and his bones and made his ears want to bleed. He pressed his hands against them until they stung.

He had the foresight to leave his and his crew’s horses at the mountain’s base and for that he was thankful. The horses would have panicked, maybe over the edge, in the brutal conditions.

His team cowered as close to the mountain as they could, trying to hide from the relentless pounding of the fist-sized hail. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to go but up, so they were forced to endure. Their weaknesses had started to show, which angered him. He sensed their growing concern over his failure to find Rasi and the mountain storm only added to their misgivings. All but Siver, that was. Damn skeptical Siver who was always nipping at Tevin’s heels.

Tevin couldn’t blame his men for their unease as he had led them up several dead-end mountains, including treacherous Widow’s Rock, without payoff. His men weren’t stupid. They knew the stories said that Rasi lived on Shadows Peak, everyone did, but for whatever reason, maybe misplaced trust, they stayed loyal to him. He knew their trust wouldn’t last much longer, especially when they were about to find Rasi’s cave empty.

As the night passed, the thunder and lightning slowed but the hail fell harder. Tevin became concerned that the team couldn’t bear the pounding much longer. When he saw a nearby rock protruding from the wall, he ordered the men to seek refuge beneath it.

Tevin sat with his back to the mountain, his eyes trained on the others. He needed rest, they all did. He felt Siver’s stares though he didn’t look at the Queen’s personal guard. With heavy, sagging eyelids, he bobbed his head. His first bob startled him awake again. He looked to the others, fearing they might be watching, plotting an overthrow. But the men were physically drained and quickly fell asleep. Seeing them sleep allowed him the comfort to stop fighting his closing eyelids and dream.

T
evin was nine years old again, shy, and in school at recess. As he had during every recess before, he sat alone in his newest hiding place. The other children ran and played and giggled while he put his colors to paper. But inevitably, this day as with all of the others, the older children, the bullies, found him and surrounded him.

“Please, leave me alone,” he begged. Though some days they did, this day they did not.

“Two, four, five, six, Tevin’s grandma is a witch. Six, five, four, two, Tevin’s mother is one, too.” One of the kids poked his ribs with a stick. He yelped and batted it away.

“Stop it,” he whined.

The bully teased, “My mom said your grandma is a freak … You’re a freak.”

“No,” he screamed. “It’s not true.”

The bully crowded him with raised fists. Tevin cowered from the usual punches that normally followed. He covered his face with his arms but the blow didn’t come.