Disciple of Vengeance by CC Rasmussen (phonics readers .txt) 📕

PAIN.

EACH SENSE probed by a hot iron. Flashes of insight: the smell of incense; coarse hands massaging ointment into his skin; the wind catching an open tent door; the sound of hushed voices.

He woke up. The pain was less. Was he dead again? On opening his eyes could make out the flickering interior of a medium-sized tent. One candle in the center cast an orange glow that threw shadows dancing along the walls. He lay there for some time, his mind drifting as he cataloged recent events as best he could. Had it all really happened? It was the conversation with Renea that made it all real. She was still alive. Had traversed the Shimmer to speak to him in his dreams and warn him off. Protect him. She should have known better.

The tent flap opened. A man entered. He wore a dusty turban and loose-fitting tunic with pants, cut in the traditional Uma way. A gypsy of the traveling caravans had found him, probably while plundering the corpses. Janis had an urge to feel disgusted, and yet he didn’t.

“You’re awake,” the man said in a thick accent. Janis nodded. He approached a small basin at the end of the bed. The tent was plush for something always on the move. An ornate samovar stood on a stand by the door. The Uma dunked his hand into the basin and pulled out a sopping sponge. He walked to the edge of the bed, regarding Janis with deep brown eyes.

“You’ve had a fever. I want to wipe the sweat away, that’s all.”

Janis nodded. The sponge was immediately soothing against his forehead. He realized how thirsty he was.

“Water to drink?” the man asked. Janis nodded. The Uma returned with a small glass bottle. Janis sucked it down in a few gulps. “When we found you, I was sure you were dead. Imagine my surprise when I rolled you onto your back.”

Janis inhaled air with a sharp gasp and looked down at his chest. The symbiote was pulsating in sync with his heartbeat. He lowered the bottle and took a deep breath. The man watched him. “You have nothing to fear from me. I’m in your debt.”

The man pulled a small stool from under the bed and sat on it. “We must all fear the creatures of the Shimmer and beyond,” he said, tired. “And those who deal with them.”

Janis considered defending himself, then thought better of it. “Why help me then?”

“You are Janis, third son of House Aphora,” the man said, his eyes filled with sorrow. “To some, that would be a reason to kill you. But your House was always honest with me, and I’ve profited from your dominance in J’Soon.” Janis held his gaze. “The Arawat have a long memory, and we still serve one who is your master.”

The Arawat… his stomach churned at the name. He remembered the man in the golden robe. “You don’t remember, do you?” Janis shook his head. “It happens to those who cross the Veil, as you have. Some bits of yourself might return with time, if you look inward. If you can stand to be honest with yourself.” The Uma pulled a scroll from his belt and handed it to Janis. Janis’s hand trembled as he grasped and unfurled it.

The man stood up. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he said.

“No,” Janis replied. “Please, stay.” The man regarded him, then sat back down. The letter was written in some kind of code, but Janis found he could understand it.

Shadowstalker Aphora,

If you’ve gotten this letter, then Eli has found you. He’s been an agent of mine among the Uma for many years. You can trust him. I don’t know what you’ll remember on waking. Know that your family is dead, betrayed by Orinax for something in their possession. I’m trying to discover what. There is nothing I could do except have Eli look for you. As of this writing, the Arawat already suspect you’re alive. They have put a high bounty on your head. Do not return to J’Soon. Make your way to B’lac. Forces Orinax allied with are based there. A cult. I will know more when I meet you. Wait for me at the tavern.

Trust no one.

May the Shadows keep you,

Brethor, Shadowmaster

Janis exhaled. A cocktail of regret, rage, and betrayal swelled in him. He relived his family’s fate. Could feel the flames on his skin. His hands trembled. Who was this Brethor? A single image popped into his mind: a somber man with light, bark-like skin singed brown, sporting a thick gray beard. Shadowmaster… Janis’s master. He’d been an assassin. A spy. Was that this man’s doing? “Where is B’lac?”

“A couple days’ journey north, along the southern tip of the Pikean Peaks,” Eli said.

“You didn’t read this letter?”

Eli shook his head. “I know only that I was to find you and, were I able, to help you get to where Brethor would meet you.”

“You… know him, then?” He nodded once. “And you knew my family?”

“In a way,” he replied. Janis tried to stand, but the man held out his arm. “Not yet. You’ll need another day to recuperate.”

“How long have I been out?” Janis finished standing, his head swimming. He toppled, but caught himself.

“Three days,” the man said. “You are too tired. Brethor would want you to rest.”

Janis sighed. “Your name is Eli?” he whispered.

“Elisham, but you may call me Eli.”

“I don’t have another day. These… Arawat. They’ll be after me. I need a horse and enough food to get there.”

“You’ll need more if you hope to avoid the bounty hunters.”

“I’ll move faster alone.”

“You’re in no condition, and the Waste is merciless.” He walked to a nearby rack and grabbed a pitch-black robe from it.

Janis took the robe and put it on. It had many folds, with a simple rope to tie it around the waist. Despite its thickness, it was also breathable and light in the Uma way. Janis checked a weight in the pockets. There were even a few specs inside.

“Someday I’ll repay my debt to you. I swear it.”

Eli nodded. “I serve your master. There is nothing to repay. Except…”

“Ask.”

“We were to find Janis Aphora, Shadowstalker. Not a mage.”

“You’ve found Janis the survivor,” he replied. Eli looked unconvinced. “It’s not my master, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“We Uma do not know these gods as you do. They are creatures of death given life. We do not trust them. None in the Waste do.”

“You have nothing to fear from me.”

Eli sighed. “You must hide this about yourself if you’re to survive and meet our master.”

So Brethor was his master. Or had been. He grit his teeth at the thought as much as at the pain of standing. He didn’t like the idea at all.

“I will. Where is this tracker?”

“Come with me.”

Eli led him through narrow gaps between tents of various sizes, past camels and horses, the smell of spices and cooked meat permeating the air. It’s good it was night. Though Eli had been honest so far, he couldn’t be sure there weren’t others who’d take the chance at earning the bounty. The Uma were an opportunistic bunch.

Eli stopped as they passed a woman caring for a couple of horses. He spoke to her in the Uma tongue, then turned to Janis. “This is Sciana.”

She looked at Janis like he was another clueless customer come to gawk at their wares. A torch hanging from a tent a few paces away illuminated her face well. Angular cheeks, a sharp chin, and sharp eyes underneath thick brown hair that cascaded down her back.

“This is the tracker?” Janis asked.

She said something to Eli. He muttered back in a harsh tone. She looked unimpressed. The two went back and forth for a second as she rubbed the horse's side.

“I won’t beg for someone’s help. Give me a horse and supplies and I’ll be on my way.”

She looked at him. She had a