Converging Paths

Three days had passed since the Kriton ambush. Aniah had been unconscious for the first day, waking finally sometime in the middle of the night. She had still been weak, which translated to her being even more whiny than usual. She would alternately complain about not moving quickly enough and being too tired to move at all. No matter what pace Joree set, she found some reason to be cranky.

“I don’t think you’re even taking us the right direction anymore,” Aniah accused irritably. She stumbled on a tree root and grabbed his arm to steady herself, then continued speaking as if nothing had happened. “We should surely be there by now.”

“You said the army was north,” Joree said flatly. “Well, we’re going north. Maybe if you could be a little more specific…”

“I told you,” she sniffed, “it is due north from Ranteel, practically a straight line.”

“That’s not very helpful,” Joree pointed out. “We had to take a detour west to find a bridge over that river, and the paths through the forests aren’t exactly straight. I don’t know where ‘due north from Ranteel’ is anymore.”

Aniah glared at him. “Isn’t it your job to do stuff like this?”

“Stuff like this?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “You’re a rural citizen. Isn’t this practically your life? Surviving in a virtual wilderness? Living off the land? Finding your way using…stars or something?”

“Yes,” Joree said blandly. “I spent all of my time out hunting and gathering with my hand-carved spear. I can find my prey simply by licking my finger and putting it up the wind. I even made myself a lion-skin loin cloth to hunt in. Would you like to see?”

Her face flushed noticeably.

“And I am quite good at reading the stars, especially during broad daylight. I have developed the supernatural eyesight of all us hunter-gatherer types,” Joree added, just for good measure.

“If I didn’t know you would likely die here without my protection, I would leave you,” Aniah said, raising her chin loftily. “Be grateful for my mercy.”

Joree held back a snort. She had been foolish and arrogant enough to believe his wild story of how they’d escaped the Kritons. She now thought that she’d managed to overwhelm their minds before falling unconscious, giving Joree enough time to drag her to safety. She had been even more insufferable and entitled after learning of her supposed 'heroism’.

He smiled ruefully. “Oh, so you’re the protector now? Does that mean you’re releasing me from my duty?”

Her haughty expression faltered briefly.

“If so, I would very much like to go back to my mother now,” he continued.

She tossed her head, causing her hair to whip over one shoulder. “Just because I am more powerful than you does not mean that I should be forced to perform menial labor. I am still royalty, and as such there are certain privileges that should be afforded me.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “So I’m, like, your slave. Everything makes so much more sense now. Why didn’t you explain that before?”

She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “If you were my slave, your tongue would have been removed long ago for insolence.”

He snorted, catching her as she again stumbled over something hidden in the underbrush. He was about to retort when he heard something. He froze in place, and Aniah stumbled to a stop beside him.

“What in Arkadia’s Flames-”

“Shh,” he hissed. She looked ready to protest, but the sounds had grown louder. He could tell now that it was shouting. The words were indecipherable, but the tone was clear. Someone was very angry.

***

Captain Manisutti stared down at the four trembling figures, his blood boiling.

“To be clear,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “I sent six mounted warriors out to reclaim a pampered whelp, only to have them return like cowering dogs?”

“She is more than a pampered whelp, Captain,” one of the men said, although he didn’t raise his head. “She is Arellia’s daughter. Her Will is strong. And she had help. A young man.”

Manisutti gave a derisive scoff. “So you were defeated by two children instead of just the one. Surely you have a better excuse than that.” He let his words hang in the air, a challenge.

“The man was…strange,” another of the cowards offered. “He seemed to be unaffected by mind strikes.”

“So he had strong Will,” Manissutti snapped. “That is still no reason for six men to have been bested so soundly.”

“No, sir,” the failed soldier continued in a softer voice. “He didn’t try to use Will. At least, not on any of us four,” he gestured to him and his companions. “But when we attacked him, he didn’t even seem to feel it.” The man hesitated, casting a furtive glance at the men around him. “And he did…other things.”

Manisutti cocked one eyebrow. “Other things? Could you perhaps be more specific? Did he take out his pocket flute and play an enchanting tune for you? Or perhaps he began to speak in the Forgotten Language?”

“He sent Gonutu flying backwards with touching him,” the coward said, finally looking up to meet Manisutti’s eyes.

Manisutti snorted. “Making up wild tales to excuse your failure will not-”

He cut off, noticing the figure shifting in the corner. The dark shape seemed to materialize out of the shadows, draped in loose fitting black clothing that made him seem indistinct when he moved. He was very tall, with a willowy frame that belied his true strength.

Manisutti held back a shudder, feeling tingles on the back of his neck. This man, known as ‘Vris’ was a tool, but also an immense risk. Manisutti did not like his piercing eyes, the way his skin seemed to refract sunlight, or the soft menace in his voice. But he was powerful, and currently, he was helping Manisutti.

“Explain more,” Vris said, voice quiet but sharp. It set Manisutti’s teeth on edge.

The cowering figures on the floor shrunk down even further. None of the Kritons were truly comfortable with this man.

The soldier who had been speaking licked his lips, voice trembling as he spoke. “He-he simply held out his hand, and Gonutu was thrown backwards as if struck by something very large. When he landed, I would have sworn his breastplate had been dented inward. Then we fled. I-I know nothing else.”

“Explain him,” Vris pressed. The soldier looked confused. “His face, his voice. Explain him.” Vris did not seem frustrated or impatient at having to clarify.

“It-it was very dark…” the soldier trailed off. Vris’s cold expression did not change, but something in his eyes grew deadly.

“He was tall, perhaps only two inches shorter than yourself,” another of the cowardly men said, voice very soft. “His hair was light, I believe. Blonde. Strong looking.”

Vris turned and strode from the room without a word. Manisutti shivered. That man was disturbing. He would have to find a way to dispose of him quietly.

***

“You’re running towards the shouting?” Aniah hissed, grabbing Joree’s arm.

He hesitated. She had a point.

“Well, if there are people in that direction, they might be able to tell us where we are…” he said uncertainly.

“Or they could enslave or murder us,” she retorted.

He shook her hand free. Somehow, her insistence only made him want to investigate the shouting more.

“If you’re scared, stay here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t you dare leave me out here alone!” she exclaimed, voice rising in pitch.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t you mean that I shouldn’t leave without you, because it’s unsafe for me?” He imbued his voice with as much innocence as possible.

She scowled. “Citizen, I’m giving you an ord-”

He turned and started running before she could finish. She started cursing at him immediately, commanding him to stop. He didn’t.

The shouts grew louder as he ran but no more intelligible. They sounded like words, but not words that he understood. He slowed when he saw vague movement, crouching low and moving as silently as possible.

Ahead, three tall, willowy figures were running perpendicular to his position. They each moved with lithe grace, their bodies seeming to meld with their surroundings. They were calling out unintelligible sounds, obviously chasing something. Joree scanned ahead of them, and caught the faintest glimmer of movement far to his right before it vanished into the foliage.

The three figures passed his position and he waited a few seconds before following as quietly as possible. Fortunately, they were making a lot of noise, so he was able to keep up without drawing attention.

It didn’t take long before he saw what they were chasing. Or, rather, who. Another figure, probably female based on the long silvery hair that whipped out as she ran. She seemed to be wearing rags.

One of the figures, a tall male with pure black hair that reached his shoulders, threw a hand out.

The fleeing figure stumbled, back arching, then fell to her knees. A mind strike, likely. Within seconds, the three pursuers-two male and one female-converged on the fallen girl. The man who had struck her started speaking harshly, his words both sharp and smooth, like a blade. The girl did not move or reply. The black haired man reached down and jerked the girl to her feet. She didn’t cry out or raise her head. He grabbed her jaw and forced her roughly to look at him.

It was the first time Joree had seen any of their faces straight on. He leaned forward, fascinated. Her cheek bones were sharp and defined, her skin so pale it was almost opaque. Her hair wasn’t grey but truly silver-almost reflective. But the most intriguing part was her eyes. They were an intense shade of turquoise, distinct even from a distance.

The man drew a knife. Instinctively, Joree cried out, leaping forward.

It was the wrong move. He realized it a split second after his body reacted, but it was too late. The three taller people turned towards him sharply, almost in unison.

He felt a shiver run up his spine at their gazes. Each had distinctly bright eyes, eyes that seemed intent on drilling holes straight through him. Their expressions were cold and flat, as if he were nothing more than an insect that had crawled into their path. Not even a scary insect either. A caterpillar maybe.

The man with the black hair raised his hand in the same gesture he had used before. With his other hand, he grasped the ragged girl’s shoulder. Why did the man use hand gestures? Using Will was purely mental.

A few awkward seconds passed as the man stared at Joree, violet eyes hardening. He said something in his strange language. The other two raised their hands towards Joree. Still, nothing happened.

“Sorry to be so unaccommodating,” Joree said, sighing. “But since you’re clearly not getting anywhere with the hand waving, let’s just call it a truce? You let go of that young lady there, and I-”

The woman drew a long, wickedly curved sword from her waist.

“Right,” Joree muttered. “Of course.”

The woman took one step forward and then halted, grunting. She tried to move again but faltered. Joree cocked his head. What the-

She put a hand to her head, and then her eyes rolled back and she collapsed.

“Arkadia’s Flames,” Joree whispered, but then a voice interrupted him.

“Told you that you would need my protection.”

For the first time, Joree was actually glad to hear Aniah’s voice.

“Impeccable timing,” he said, a little breathlessly.

She had obviously moved her attention to the other two, but with her Will split, the result was less immediate. The black haired man shoved the thin girl to the ground and she didn’t rise. He moved forward with effort, raising a hand towards Aniah.

Joree moved, using some instinct he didn’t know he had. He leapt in front of Aniah, putting his body in between hers and the attacker.

It was a pointless gesture. Will targeted a specific mind, not a physical location. It wouldn’t see Joree as a barrier, it would simply move through him and hit Aniah.

Except it didn’t. She remained unharmed, and after a few more moments, the two men collapsed as well.

“Are you alright?” Joree asked, turning to look at Aniah.

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” She looked very pleased with herself.

“You didn’t feel anything? No mind attacks, I mean?”

She paused, frowning. “No, actually. That’s…that’s odd.”

He glanced over, scanning the fallen figures. His gaze rested upon the girl. Flames, he’d forgotten about her!

He scrambled over to her side, going down on one knee. She seemed to be unconscious, but her breathing was normal and he couldn’t see any wounds. He noticed idly that her silver hair was tipped with black at the end. She was painfully scrawny, probably from malnourishment.

“Who are these people?” Aniah asked, nudging the other woman with her foot. “They look…odd.”

Joree had to agree. They were abnormally tall and thin, and wore strange clothing. Besides that, though, their hair, eye, and skin coloring were nothing he had seen before.

The girl stirred before him. “We should go,” he decided. “This girl needs help, and those people won’t stay unconscious for long.”

Aniah nodded distractedly, already crouching to loot the bodies.