Chapter 7: Sensations

Akali groaned silently. She’d been out on the road for far too long, never with a single damned boy to bond with. But now that she had a single damned, so very damned, boy to bond with, she wouldn’t dream of meshing with him. It wasn’t his looks; that was just about the only aspect of Daku that didn’t put her off. It was everything else; he was hopelessly uncouth, shamelessly lustful, carelessly blasphemous . . . not to mention violent.

To be fair, manners were out of place in the environment he lived in; Akali couldn’t be more aware of that.

And perhaps Daku’s lust was just Akali’s fault for being so attractive, which really wasn’t her fault either, which made it the doing of Zel, who had no faults.

As for his blasphemy . . . he did technically believe in Zel, in his own misguided way. It might be better than simple disbelief.

All that said, he still solved his problems with killing. From what Akali had gathered, he always had a reason; or rather, an excuse, but still . . . Killing was wrong. Except when it was right.

Restless, Akali got up, and looked across the fire, where Daku was sleeping, face up to the heavens, his arms stretched out.
Akali felt her blood race through her veins. She leapt over the fire, ripping off her shabby shirt and letting it burn. She landed with one knee on either side of Daku’s hips, straddling him. Furiously, she removed her undergarment and threw back it to join her shirt.

She fell forward, seizing Daku’s ragged leather armor and tearing it at the seams with all her might. She felt Daku’s surprisingly smooth chest against her breasts. His eyes snapped open, gleaming red in the firelight with adventure. He snatched like an orc-thief—a very confused orc-thief, mistaking breasts for orcs—and squeezed.

Akali cried out in surprise at feeling Daku’s pointed fingernails in her skin. Daku quickly withdrew his hands, but Akali caught them and smothered them to her chest, where they resumed what they’d been doing.

Slowly, she pulled the hands away, and leaned down to Daku’s face. She nibbled his lips, licked his rigid rows of teeth, tickled his cheeks, twisted her tongue around his.

But it wasn’t enough. Akali jumped up, pulling Daku with her. She began to help him remove his pants-

“Wake up, Akali,” Daku said. “Your breakfast is getting cold."

Akali opened her eyes, cursed the glaring light of the sun, and immediately forgot her dream.

--------------------

After breaking their fast, Akali and Daku trudged across the plains, searching for ways to improve the world. They’d been minimally successful so far.

“Hey Akali, could you slow down a bit? I like looking at you from behind, but I’m getting tired.”

Akali stopped, turning around. She decided to grudgingly tolerate the sexual harassment, and react only if it persisted. “Tired!” she said. “You flee me for a whole year, slowing down only to hit on me, never giving me a moments rest in my relentless hunt, and now that you join me to redeem yourself by smiting evil, you’re tired?”

“Yeah. Smiting evil is hard work.”

“Very well,” Akali said. “I see a log up ahead. Let’s sit on it.”

“If I had more energy, I’d think of an innuendo involving the log—”

“Don’t. It’s bad for your soul. And even worse for your chances with me.”

Daku shrugged, saying nothing. They sat down, and Akali took out a flask of water. She drank from it, and passed it to Daku.

After quenching their thirst, they relaxed, watching the sunlight make shifting patterns on the ground with the shadows of leaves.

“But if I hold back, I still have the urge, and then it’s only a matter of time before I start going at it again, with renewed vigor.”

Akali pondered this. “Keep stifling it. You’ll gain more control over yourself with practice. Mastery of one’s emotions is one of the central tenets of Zelism.”

“Hey, I never said I was going to join your religion. I’m just smiting evil because there isn’t enough good to smite. And because the alternative involves imprisonment. And because you’re hot.”

“Let’s move,” Akali snarled.

--------------------

Akali and Daku came to a village, consisting of one street of houses and shops. On their left, they saw a wizened blacksmith, dousing a finished sword in a bucket. A cloud of steam hissed from it. They walked up to him.

“Greetings, venerable smith,” Akali said. “I’m a knight, and he isn’t. We’re looking for evil to smite.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’re a couple days late,” the smith replied. “See, a couple days ago, a funny thing happened. Or rather, two bad things happened at the same time, but cancelled each other out in a funny way. Our village was invaded by two bandit gangs at once, and they appeared to be rivals.

“Three people in black, with curved swords, walked into town by way of an alley on this side of the street. At the same time, three people in red, with jagged swords, walked into town by way of an alley on that side of the street.

“Their leaders walked up to each other, and circled. The one in red said, ‘Well, it looks like we both came here at exactly the wrong time.’

“The one in black said, ‘Good thing I don’t give a rat’s ass about right and wrong, then.’

“To which the one in red replied, ‘Then I’m sure your convictions won’t keep you from getting the hell out of this village.’

“And the black-wearing one said, ‘Nah, we’re gonna put hell into this village. It’ll be fun.’

“Red-wearer said, ‘Y’know, Quab, if we fight here, the villagers will just kill the survivor. Let’s settle this out in the wilds . . . unless you demon-loving wimps can’t handle them.’

“So the black-wearer said, ‘It’s on, Klamava.’"

“Klamava?!” Akali and Daku chorused in surprise, and turned to each other.

“Wait, you know her too?” Daku said.

“Knew her? She’s my long-lost best friend!” Akali exclaimed. “But I can’t imagine her leading a bandit gang.”

“That’s what she was doing when I met her. But maybe we’ve known different people name Klamava. Let’s find a place to sit down and talk.”
They did, and Akali told her tale.

Telsic, a squire of Akali’s age who was apparently mute, took Akali to the end of the corridor, and knocked on a door.

“Klamava?” he said. Not mute after all.

“Be there in a second,” a female voice said from within. The door opened.

A girl stood before Akali. She had orange, curly hair that seemed to explode from her head, surrounding a pale face with soft, green eyes.

“Klamava, this is Akali. Akali, this is-”

For no obvious reason, Klamava hugged Akali. Bemused, Akali hugged back.

“-Klamava.” Telsic finished. “I’m sure you’ll be the best of friends.” He walked back down the corridor.

Klamava pulled back, embarrassed. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s been a bit lonely being the only girl here, hence the hug.”

Akali smiled. “No need to apologize. Minutes before now, the Captain attacked me, and I put my sword to his throat. Then he asked me if I wanted to kill him, and accepted me into the knighthood when I didn’t. The hug was reassuring, and it’s nice to meet you.”

“He was probably planning to accept you regardless.” Klamava explained. “He’s a bit scary, but a great teacher; I think he acts that way to prepare us for the dangers we’ll face as knights.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds, silent. They both burned with questions about each other, but couldn’t think of which ones to ask first, or how to ask them.

“Come in! I’ll just clear this stuff off the bottom bunk . . .” Klamava said, referring to a plethora of unfinished drawings.

Akali looked around the small room. The walls were covered with drawings, some of horses, some of swords, some of people, many of fire. Because of them, it was a mystery what color the walls were, but that wasn’t surprising; the room was just wide enough for Akali to stretch her arms from one wall to the other, and twice as long. Half the room was taken up by the bunk bed.

“Kinda small, I know,” said Klamava. “Captain Rhefelli says ‘This isn’t where you live; it’s where you sleep.’“

“Sleep and draw.” Akali noted. “These drawings are lovely.”

“Thanks.” Klamava said. “I’ve never finished one, though. Halfway through, I always think of something even better to draw. It’s just like fighting crime; two new ones are committed before you’ve solved the one you’re on.”

“I suppose we’ll have to learn to solve three crimes at once, then.”

“Don’t let Rhefelli hear you say that; he wants us to be able to solve at least nine at once when we’re knights.”

“Nine at once? That’s crazy!”

“Crazy? This is knighthood, my friend.”

“We became fast friends, and did practically everything together; we sparred, we rode horses, we talked about philosophy and boys, we became knights. But you met her too?”

“Yeah,” Daku began.

“This is it, boys,” said Crazy Old Uncle Farelsh, in front of a dingy, thatched-roof tavern. “Now’s the time for the ultimate test of your skills. Pass it, and you will truly be swordsmen. Fail it, and you will remain swordsboys until the day you die. Then, you will be swordscorpses.”

“Thank you for saying that again, Uncle,” said his pupil, Mato.

“Yeah,” said Daku. “Now we’ve heard it three times. Could we please start the test?”

“Right, right,” said Farelsh, handing each of them a small candle, and lighting them. “Go inside that tavern, and stay in it until these candles go out, at which time you must walk out of the door.”

Mato and Daku bowed, and walked into that tavern, listening to the door creak. It was almost empty. A middle-aged barmaid with a weary expression was cleaning a glass with a rag. A girl in a short-skirted tunic sat on a stool in a corner, slowly draining a mug. As she turned to glance at them, took a step towards her. His foot bumped into Mato’s, who was apparently having the same thoughts. They played a quick game of silent rock-paper-sword, which Daku won. He swaggered over to the girl, and sat next to her.

“Hey, sexy,” he said with well-rehearsed casualness. “Getting lonely in this empty barrel?”

She did not respond. Daku continued. “How about you and me find someplace more…comfortable and get to know each other, if you get my drift. If you don’t get my drift, I—”

“Hey!” said an intruding male voice behind Daku. “Get’cher sleazy tongue aways from my girlfriend!”

Daku got up, face to face with a dirty warrior in leather armor. “Does she make you talk for her? Can’t she tell me that herself?”

The warrior’s right hand reached for his sword, distracting Daku as the left hand punched him in the face. Daku fell back onto the bar, his head bumping into something cylindrical.

As Daku stood up, the girl got up from her stool, and jumped over the bar. “You spilled my drink.” she said, to both Daku and the warrior. She pulled back her sleeves, revealing surprisingly muscular arms. “You two had better become friends real fast.” She reached under the bar, and got back up holding a two-handed sword. “‘Cause I’m gonna split both your arses!”

She jumped back over the bar, swinging her sword. The warrior tried to block with his sword, but the girl’s monstrous weapon snapped it from his hand and went straight through his neck. Daku jumped back, letting the sword miss him by less than an inch. He started to run towards the door, but his path was blocked by the sword coming down into the floor. He leaped past a wooden column that helped hold the roof up, and heard the sword chop it in half.

He found himself in a corner, with nowhere left to escape the girl and her sword. He racked his brain for interesting last words as the girl raised her mighty weapon above her head. Her bosom stood out as her back arched.

Before the sword fell on Daku, a piece of the roof fell on its wielder’s head. She fell over, stunned. As bits of roof rained from what was rapidly becoming the sky, Daku ducked under a table. Without sensible hesitation, he pulled the girl under it too.

When the collapse of the tavern ended, Daku extricated himself from the wreckage, and walked over to Mato and Farelsh, who had been standing next to it. Farelsh held up Mato’s burnt-out candle, and pointedly glanced at Daku’s, which was poking out from under a wooden beam.

“Congratulations, Swordsman Mato.” he said. “Less congratulations, Swordsboy Daku.”

“It has been an honor to learn from you, Crazy Old Uncle Farelsh.” said Mato.

“Screw you, senile bastard.” Daku said.

“Daku, I wish you the best of luck on your travels. Mato, come with me.”

As they left, the girl crawled out from under the table.

“Ow.” she said, rubbing her orange-haired head. “Huh. You appear to have saved me from being crushed by a tavern, which we both contributed to the collapse of. Want to join my gang of rebels?”

“I did. We wandered the plains, kicking ass and gathering more gangsters. She was a powerful fighter, especially against knights; she seemed to know their weaknesses. After she had a big enough gang, she made us all swear an Oath of Anti-Zelism if we wanted to stay in the gang. I refused to swear it, though, so she kicked me out.”

Akali said: “As much as I hate to say it, that sounds like Klamava; I think we’re talking about the same person. But I can’t imagine why she sunk so low… Do you know what her motivations were?”

“Well, she talked about everything she’d learned being wrong. And wanting to find her lover. She said he was a gardener, but her father wouldn’t let him marry her unless he went out to be a soldier. Which was a shame, really. He sounded like a nice guy. You’re crying.”

“Daku,” Akali choked. “You killed him.”

Daku stared intently at the ground.

“Didn’t give it a second thought, did you?” Akali said bitterly. Tears were flowing down past her chin. “What does it matter to you that the people you kill have lives, lovers, families?”

“Now I see why you chased me so long.” Daku said. “You wanted to avenge him.”

Akali glared at Daku. “I wanted to apprehend you, like any other criminal. If I wanted revenge, I’d kill myself.”

“Why not me?”

“Because I swore to protect him. What you did was just you being Daku, for reasons I don’t even want to know. What I did was fail Klamava and let Oviscean die.” She wiped her tears. “Let’s head for the inn and get some sleep. Tomorrow, we search the hills for Klamava. We’ve all got some explaining to do.”

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Aelis City did not feel like home. Nasatu’s fellow merchants and artisans advertised their wares as he and Janaka proceeded down Eagle Street, the main drag that bisected the whole city. But their cries rang false in his ears. The tall buildings, the crowds of people, the constant presence of Zelist knights, officers and officials—Nasatu wasn’t sure if this feeling of being an outsider had always been there, but he certainly noticed it now, after he had been away.

This was supposed to be the perfect place for him. It was the city where entrepreneurs and artisans thrived. All aspiring business owners and artists knew of Aelis City. This was where you made it big. Achieved success and all your dreams. Even the low-class actors could find welcoming audiences here. As a child, Nasatu wanted nothing more than to sculpt and create art to earn his livelihood—or so he thought. He was blessed that his parents were acquainted with a glassblower to whom they were able to apprentice him. Living in Aelis City should have been living his dream. If he didn’t fit in here, Nasatu reflected, he didn’t fit in anywhere.

A passerby jostled him as the brothers made their way across the street, and Nasatu stumbled over the cobblestones. He looked back in disgust at the man who was in such a hurry to flag down a nearby taxi coach. The distraction almost caused him to trip over a young man peddling paintings on the sidewalk.

“Sorry,” said Nasatu. The man didn’t seem to notice.

“Do you need something to eat?” Janaka’s voice didn’t seem to know how to phrase the question. Nasatu looked up at his older brother, who was staring off in another direction. It took Nasatu a moment to realize that Janaka was in fact gazing towards a restaurant. Nasatu couldn’t resist chuckling. When they were growing up, he had always been able to tell when Janaka was hungry. Less had changed about Nasatu’s relationship with his brother than he had expected after so many years of estrangement. Less of the oppositional parts, anyway.

“What’s so funny?” said Janaka, focus snapping from hunger to Nasatu.

“Nothing. I’m not hungry,” Nasatu lied. It was midday and all they’d had for breakfast was some dried meat and berries from Janaka’s store of rations. But Nasatu was done spending quality time with his brother. They had spent the past couple of weeks traveling across the plains from little town to little town, exchanging a few words about their new lives, but mostly glaring at each other. The last thing Nasatu wanted now that he could rest was another shared meal to make the silence even more awkward.

“Can we just get back to my workshop? I’m tired.”

“You live in your workshop?” Janaka’s voice knew how to handle this one: with amused disdain.

“Where do you live?” Nasatu shot back. Janaka was silent, but he shifted tactics before Nasatu could go after him on the subject.

“I’m going to get something to eat. We’ll stop by your workshop and I’ll make sure some prefects are watching before I leave you alone.” And now it was time to glare again. Janaka would always win the staring contests they had in Nasatu’s childhood, and the spy training had helped intensify his stony gaze. Nasatu did his best to mask his guilt, hunger, anger, frustration, and plans to sin again all under a message of “I’m tired” sent by his eyes.

“You want me to show you where it is?” he said, giving up on holding his own in the nostalgia-tainted staredown.

“I remember where you live.” Janaka strode ahead and turned right down Holmulland Lane.

“Is this a matter I should report to the knights, sir?” asked the prefect officer.

“For now, I just want this man watched. He went missing once and I don’t want him to be lost again.” Janaka jerked his thumb to where Nasatu sat with a sullen expression at a desk inside his shop. The prefect hesitated, then nodded when Janaka glared at him harder.

“For now, I have been authorized to keep watch over this miscreant by my Order,” Janaka continued, showing him the symbol that the Order allowed itself to be known by to Zelists. “But I have a letter here from Lady Akali Weere ordering the assignment of a probation officer. I will expect results on this matter within two days.”

Janaka turned away from the nonplussed peace officer and strode silently through the shop door to confront his brother again. Nasatu didn’t even bother trying to hold his gaze this time. For some reason, Janaka was disappointed.

“It is convenient that this shop is also your house. You are to stay here at all times until I get back. I will continue to watch you at all times until I can get you a real probation officer. I suggest you set up an extra bed or mattress while I am away.” Without another word, Janaka turned around and headed towards a restaurant that had caught his eye on the way here. He was really hungry.

Nasatu shifted on his chair. It was cheap and uncomfortable. He stared around at his twisted little glass creations, the only things in this place that seemed anything like family.

“Hello, glassworks,” he said, half-hoping for a response. While they remained silent as ever, Nasatu was sure that one of them winked.

--------------------

The trees had barely begun to thin when Mato and Saru came upon the first town they had seen in three days. It was a real town, though, thought Mato, not like one of those tiny Elder Villages you found in the deep woods. In Mato’s opinion, those were poor excuses for some old wizard or scholar to sit in the forest with a group of lackeys and pretend to be one with nature. This would be after, of course, he had acquired what he—or she—considered to be sufficient wisdom. “Never stop learning!” Farelsh had told him. “You’ll always be stupider than somebody. If you’re still learning, you have an excuse!”

It was a good thing that this was no Elder Village, too. Apparently, Elder Rathkan had spread the word that a wizard girl in a dark blue cloak was carrying a powerful and dangerous magical artifact. The last time they had stopped at an Elder Village, the guards had chased them out before Saru could give the Elder so much as a mysterious nod. Mato had relished the chance to wave the new sword Daku had made for him around, but he was hoping not to have to actually fight with it. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected out of Daku anything but the sword he got: horribly weighted for its size, and an unnecessary spike on the pommel. It looked wicked and dangerous, and it was, to Mato as much as to anyone he would be fighting. So he was counting on the news about the artifact in Saru’s possession not having spread this far. He squinted in the dwindling sunlight that trickled through the leaves overhead and strode up to the metal gates of the town. Saru, with a dubious expression on her face, was already inspecting the sign that hung off them at a crooked angle.

WELCOME TO SECTENRAS, it read, in a script that could only be described as dubious.

“Ah, I know this place,” said Mato, grinning. “Charming little town. Shall we enter?”

Saru raised an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve wandered around a lot. I’ve spent time in this town and been fine. And we need a place to spend the night. Come on.”

Saru exhaled, then nodded. “All right.” They stepped through the gates, which creaked at them apathetically. Just inside, lounging on wooden chairs, were the guards. Mato saluted one. His response was as uninterested as that of the gates.

“I actually served on the town guard here a while back, for—briefly,” Mato explained to Saru. “He’s probably new and doesn’t remember.”

“Hm,” said Saru. The two proceeded through the village square, which featured an arrangement of flowers that somebody had clearly put a lot of effort into, a long time ago, and not since. The apartments and buildings that surrounded it glared at them.

“The best inn around here, as I recall, is this—no, down there,” Mato shifted his pointing finger from one road to the next one ahead of them. He began walking towards it, then noticed Saru wasn’t following. Looking back, he saw that she had taken out her orb and was examining it with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t think it likes this place,” she said. “It’s acting up.”

“Oh, who are you going to trust: the mystical artifact of untold power, or some guy who vaguely remembers this place from when he was here years ago? Let’s just get some sleep and move on.”

The inn, as it turned out, had been renamed since Mato was there last. It was now called “The Sleazy Tavern (Where the Beer, Rooms, and Wenches are Cheap!).”

“See, I told you,” said Mato. “Charming town. It’s quaint, really.”

Saru turned to leave.

“No, wait! This is the only inn worth going to; the other ones are all really sleazy!” Mato glanced at the sign again. “It wasn’t that long ago that I was here. Just trust me.”

Saru turned around again and jabbed her staff into the ground a couple times, as if to test the earth.

“Fine. At least the rooms will be cheap. How much money do you have?”

“Um, I kinda thought that since you employed me, I might receive some sort of wage that would cover such traveling expenses as—”

Saru glared at him. Mato’s grin faded as he switched tactics.

“Listen, I’m really broke. How about this? You cover the rooms, and I can buy you a drink.” Mato watched carefully for the change in Saru’s expression that didn’t come.

--------------------

Saru wasn’t sure why she let Mato buy her a drink, but he did seem to have at least one thing about this place right: the inn served a decent fruit juice. Mato had ordered it right away, apparently knowing without asking that she didn’t drink alcohol. Not many men would buy a non-alcoholic beverage for a woman, she admitted to herself. She glanced over at him. He had one hand on a beer, the other on the hilt of his sword. No doubt he was itching to defend her from one of the many ruffians scattered around the room. These people gave Mato and Saru the occasional once-over with their mead-glazed eyes, but didn’t seem to have further plans. There were plenty of cheap wenches to keep them occupied with their normal routines. Hit on sleazy girls or be hit on by sleazy guys, drink beer, talk loudly about nothing in particular, play cards, relax. People in dark cloaks keeping to themselves were of no particular interest to them.

It occurred to Saru that she was not the type of person with whom most of the common people cared to interact. She was of the “mysterious-outsider-in-a-cloak” variety. So was Mato, she realized.

“Hey,” he said, taking his eyes off the other clientele to turn to her. “Do you really think you’ll find what you’re looking for in the Royal City of Zel?”

“There are a lot of people there,” said Saru. “And a lot more goes on than what the Zelist officials know about. It’s quite likely that someone there will help us.”

“Uh huh,” said Mato. “It’s gotta be somewhere out there, right?”

“Right.” Saru watched him take a long swig of the beer. She was faintly curious why he seemed so bitter about the idea, but she wasn’t about to get into it now. Not while her ears were beginning to ring with the frantic, intense vibration of the orb.

“Okay,” said Mato, having drained his mug. “That was awful. Next question: what’s happening with Nasatu? Are you still sort of in his mind, keeping his powers under control? You seem distracted, but then you always seem distracted.”

Saru decided there was no more point in lying to him now than there had been in keeping the truth from him this long. “Well, if he were a wizard, I couldn’t block his powers permanently, since they would always be there and he could put a lot more energy into overpowering me than I could into overpowering him. But he was a weird case. His powers have vanished.”

“What? When did this happen? We beat him ten days ago.”

“The barrier imploded in on itself sometime during the night we stayed in that plains town near where we left the Cave.” Both of them felt the capital letter fall with some unease. “But I suppose the magic could have gone away even before that.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about this? Isn’t it important?” Mato’s voice rose in pitch and volume, then dropped back down as he remembered not to draw attention to himself. Saru smirked. Mato’s best comedy was unintentional.

“Akali and Daku and probably even Janaka assumed that the Nasatu problem was solved anyway. They certainly didn’t ask me about it. So as long as it didn’t really matter to anyone, I figured there was no use in worrying. Anyway, it’s likely that Nasatu got his powers temporarily from some artifact or enchantment, and it wore off by that point.”

“Powers like those?”

“You’re the expert on magic now?” No, I’ve never heard of powers like those coming from a temporary spell.

“All right, all right.” Mato shook his head.

“Thanks for the juice,” said Saru. “Now I’m going to see if I can get a quiet room.”

--------------------

It was cold and drafty in the dark wooden chamber, but the bed was surprisingly comfortable. Saru sat on it and pondered why the blue-silver orb that represented her entire life’s purpose was the only thing that didn’t seem to think this evening was a quiet one. She wondered if the orb’s other possessors received such messages. Probably they did, because she was convinced that this artifact chose its traveling companions very carefully. That was what had happened to her, after all.

Saru was not the adventurous, rule-breaking type, but on that night at the Academy she had known exactly what she had to do…

The few flames around her burned a low, pale blue, signifying the quietest time of the night. Having been up late in the halls of the Academy before, Saru had had plenty of time to memorize the colors that the lighting took on at all hours. Tonight was different, therefore, not because of the hour but because of the reason she was up and about. Usually, it was only studying or research that kept her eyes open. Tonight, it was the…orb.

Many teachers and senior wizards had hinted at Saru’s connection to the mysterious artifact that was displayed in the lower museum section of the Academy, but no one but her, she was certain, knew of the full extent of the bond that existed between her and the metallic blue sphere. The official final exams were all over. The only one left, and the true test of Saru’s magical skill, was taking the orb tonight. It floated high on a pedestal, encased in the utmost magical protection. Saru reached out her hand. Closing her eyes, she visualized the orb as a point in space, a tiny point of white light. She could feel the orb twitching with excitement as she curled in her fingers. Saru smiled.

Let me ask you this, then, the meddling wizard in red had told her all those years ago, before flinging what he no doubt considered to be her destiny upon her.

“Here’s your answer,” whispered Saru, and opened her hand. The orb shot from its protected spot in the invisible casing and flew towards her, coming to rest just above her horizontal palm. She inhaled sharply. It was hers. It didn’t matter that she would be disgraced by the Academy, or that she would never technically graduate, or even that Teacher Orph was watching from the shadows.

It was time to go.

The jagged markings on the sphere seemed to shift as Saru’s orb began to vibrate like crazy, at a frequency that seemed to take on sonic qualities and shriek inside her mind. Something was clearly wrong. It hadn’t acted like this since the Eternal Forest, when she became convinced that she was handling the precious artifact incorrectly and needed help from someone wise. And what had Elder Rathkan told her? Not much useful…only that he had seen one more like it. But that was probably inaccurate. The wizards had told her that before they put it in the Academy, the orb had moved around quite a bit, even changed its shape at different times. So it was probably the same orb, at a different time, that Rathkan had seen. No, it was definitely the same one, because she remembered overhearing some senior wizard say that there was only one other object like her…orb, and that it was with the demons. One for each world, to maintain the balance. The two…orbs would have a strong connection, then. Saru’s eyes widened as the silent shrieking increased its frequency. There could only be one reason the sphere was so upset.

Its counterpart was being abused.

--------------------

It was snowing again, in Nasatu’s dream. He could tell it was a dream because the snow was coming up from the ground, the ground was Kesre’s face, and he couldn’t see it because he was a species of purple.

“Let me guess,” Nasatu said. “I have failed, and now you’re going to punish me by eating my soul, which you were planning to do anyway.”

“I told you,” said the ground. “I can’t eat souls. I don’t know how you all got that misconception about us. Anyway, you haven’t really failed. You’ve just… succeeded differently.”

“Oh?”

“I have a new task for you. It probably won’t be easy for your conscience, though.”

“Why? My conscience is pretty easy-going.”

“If you say so. Still, it’s pretty common to have problems with killing people.”

“So you want me to kill someone. But you don’t eat souls. Right. Who?”

“Who do you think?” A blurry image of Janaka, lifeless, flashed in Nasatu’s imagination.

“Kill Janaka? My own brother?”

“See? Told you your conscience wouldn’t like it. But really, is it that much of a big deal? The fact that you were both made by the same people doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be able to… remove him when he interferes with your life.”

“You’re right. I’m really just reacting like this because everyone else in this society tells me to. Screw them! But what’s in it for me if I kill him?”

“I’ll make you a demon.”

“He’s dead.”

“Great. Now wake up.”

Nasatu did. Carefully, he got up and opened the door to his glassblowing shop, where Janaka lay on a mat on the floor. By the light of the moon, he saw one of Janaka’s knives lying next to his sleeping form.

Silently, Nasatu picked it up, unsheathed it, and held it above Janaka’s head. He took a deep breath, and stabbed.

Janaka’s hand shot up, catching Nasatu’s hand just before the blade could penetrate his head. He pulled Nasatu’s hand, thrusting the blade into the floor. Rolling, he elbowed Nasatu in the stomach.

Nasatu fell backwards, and regained his balance. Janaka pushed himself up.

“That wasn’t very intelligent, Nasatu. I’m very bad at being assassinated.”

“I’m sure you’ll pick it up,” Nasatu replied.

Neither of them mentioned their brotherhood, or reproached the other; there wasn’t much point now.

Janaka whirled, kicking Nasatu into a shelf of his own artistic attempts. They shattered around him, a making a thousand tiny splitting noises, fragments of the life he was leaving behind.

Suddenly, Nasatu felt an otherworldly force surge through him, altering his very being. Something pierced his skin from two points inside his back muscles. He cried out in pain and surprise as the wounds healed instantly. He saw the red tips of wings as they curved in front of him. His wings. He waved them experimentally. It was an eerie, yet comfortable sensation.

He grinned, and flicked his hand at Janaka, whose head lolled a bit too quickly to the left. “Argh!” Janaka grunted, hand leaping to his neck. Nasatu flicked his hand, and Janaka began to choke himself. After a second, he resisted and swung his hand at Nasatu.

Nasatu was too surprised to block. He felt Janaka’s hand impact his face like a blunt sword. His head turned, and he swung his body with it into a kick. Janaka caught it, but let it go with a flick of Nasatu’s hand.

Janaka let loose a flurry of punches, each of which Nasatu redirected with a rapidly waving hand. Each one hit a different glass creation, which shattered.

“Forget about killing him!” whispered Kesre, through what Janaka and Nasatu saw was a face made of glass shards. “Run out and fly!”

With a decisive flick of Nasatu’s hand, Janaka broke a shelf with his head. A wave of glass fell on him. With a boost from his wings, Nasatu leaped over him and kicked the door open. As Janaka pursued him out the door, Nasatu flew straight up into the sky. His demonic wings made flying as easy as walking.

His brother got smaller, becoming a little dot in the great spiderweb of streets. He felt the cool air rush against his face and his wings, through his hair. The sensation was incredibly liberating. He was free from the world, free from the people who infested it, free from rules and morals.