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

long scar that ran down from her forehead over her right eye. “You talk like you’d have lived had we not pulled you from the death pit.”

“You had your reasons.”

“They’ve run out.”

Janis made a show of brushing some dust from his robe. This was a negotiation now. “I remember little, but one thing is that it’s the Uma way to take charge of a man’s life saved in the Waste.”

Sciana made a show of fitting a new saddle to the horse and adjusting it, ignoring him as she pretended to pay close attention to a task she could probably do in her sleep.

“Whatever you think of my decision, Sciana,” Eli said, “I’ve committed to this path. We’ve tied our fortunes to his, and must do whatever we can to help him.”

She regarded the old man with resentful sympathy, said something in the Uma tongue, and then looked at Janis again. “What can you promise for helping you?”

“Loyalty,” he replied.

Sciana scoffed. “How generous.”

“I’m going to have my revenge. When I do, I’ll make sure you profit from it.”

“A promise made by every desperate man.”

Bitterness seethed in him. He didn’t want to care about this, but he could tell from the hollowness he felt Eli was right. He was exhausted. This woman was asking for gifts, but what she wanted was a cause. “The man who betrayed my family has taken my sister,” Janis said.

Her eyebrows flit up. “Oh?”

“Yes. I’m going to do whatever it takes to free her.”

Sciana brushed the horse. “My choice of two of items from your vault, and you have a deal, along with ten percent of whatever fortune you gather from the Arawat for the caravan.”

“Sciana,” Eli hissed.

“Those are my terms. Eli might be our serai, but he has risked all of us in helping you. We deserve compensation.”

Janis took proper stock of her. She wore the sword at her side with confidence, and even in the relative dark, he could see that her tight leather armor had seen some use. He didn’t know what had been in his family’s vault, anyway. Right now, it was nothing.

“Five percent,” he said.

“Ten.”

“Seven-and-a-half.”

“Sciana,” Eli whispered.

She sighed and nodded. Janis nodded back. “We should go.”

She motioned to the horse. “He’s ready for you.” She walked to the other one beside it and climbed into its saddle. Janis walked up to the horse and reached for its head. It shied away from him. “Her name is Cth’tata,” Sciana said. Janis walked closer, but it pulled back to avoid him. The Uma created special bonds with their horses. Some claimed they even shared minds. “She fears you,” Sciana said. “She’s never let a sorcerer ride her before.”

A sorcerer…

He pulled its head closer. “I understand,” he whispered. “It’s new to me, too. Everything is.”

The symbiote rose in the back of his mind, hungry as ever. He calmed himself, clamping down on the dark presence looming below his conscious thoughts. The horse eased up, but climbing into the saddle was difficult. When he looked back at Eli after jostling the reins, he could see the man was embarrassed for him.

“Thank you for your help,” Janis said.

Eli reached out and helped him control Cth’tata. He looked up into Janis’s eyes. “Remember, the creature inside you is not your friend. Do as Brethor says, he has never steered me wrong.” Janis nodded. “Good luck, Janis of House Aphora. May you find fortune again.”

Sciana cracked her reins and galloped out of the camp. Janis bunched his reins together and followed her.

*****

THEY TRAVELED UNDER the star-scarred barren dunes of the Waste for a few hours before Sciana stopped and made camp. It was in the circular recess of a large ruin that had been fallow for so long it had become a mesa. Janis watched the shadows from the flames as they danced on the smooth stone walls rising around them. What purpose had this place served? Who had lived here?

He’d tied Cth’tata up to the same small, dry tree as her own horse, then followed her to the fire. She was cooking strips of meat, and there were some vegetables in a pot. The aroma aroused his physical hunger.

She eyed him as he sat staring into the flames. He’d lost track of time. She handed him a piece of meat and he ate it immediately. He looked up at the haze of nebulae and stars above, beyond the nook they’d secreted themselves in.

“You ride well, for one of the merchant class.”

“I was no merchant,” he replied.

“Maybe not, but you were still of their class.”

Janis didn’t have the energy to argue. He didn’t remember enough about it, anyway. It was likely midnight. Perhaps even early morning. His sapienhood returned to him as he ate and drank. “Are we close?” he asked.

“If you can keep up, we should make it by nightfall tomorrow.”

“Why not faster?”

She looked at him like he was an idiot. “The Arawat have people everywhere. Bounty hunters, assassins, mercenaries. They’ll have the common roads covered. We must stick to the open Waste and what canyons can provide shade.”

He almost hazarded to tell her of just how strong a sorcerer he was, but he decided against it. The power scared him. He willed his mind to wander to other things. Images of J’Soon. The spires of the trading halls, the tents of the bazaar, smells of the open-air kitchens. He almost lay down. He was so overcome. The memories were thick, the emotions intense. Then a great sadness took him. Even if all went well, it was unlikely he’d ever set foot in his childhood home again. Once he had Re, perhaps the two of them could raise an army.

“You’re wandering in thought,” Sciana said.

“I was… thinking about what I’ll do once I’ve killed Orinax,” Janis replied.

She shook her head. “Don’t drink water you don’t have.”

“Some Uma wisdom?”

She tended to the vegetables in the pot. “You’re not even sure if you’re up to killing this Orinax. That must be your priority. As it is, you’re to meet with your master. Whatever happens after that will reveal the paths before you.”

He wanted to say he knew no master, but decided against it. She produced two bowls and slopped some stew into them. “You serve Brethor as well?”

She kept her face straight, but he could tell she was seething. “He is an ally. Nothing more.”

He took a bite. The warmth exploded across his taste buds, numbing them. He sighed with relief. She sat back down. “And you?”

“What about me?”

She took a bite. “You were an assassin, yes? One of the Shadowstalkers?” She asked through her food, watching him as though she might catch him in a lie.

“I suppose so.”

She snickered. “You either were or you weren’t.”

“I don’t remember.”

She stared at him as she chewed. He took another bite. She ripped some thin bread and dunked it. “You remember your family? The ambush?” He shook his head. “You truly don’t remember who you were?”

“Flashes, sometimes. Images.” She waited for more. “Minarets in the orange light of the tri-suns, flags snapping in the wind. Crowds in J’Soon.”

She nodded. “I’ve seen the city. It is a wonder to behold.”

His mood darkened. “My mother bleeding on a table, my father beaten by bats. Orinax taking Renea. A burning palace.” He considered his next bite. “Death.” She coughed. He took his next bite. They avoided looking at each other as she caught her breath.

“I’m sorry for your troubles,” she muttered. She looked like she wanted to say more, but kept her lips tight.

For the first time since dying, he didn’t want to focus on them. “How long have you lived in the Waste?”

“My whole life.”

“Do you know what this place was?”

“There is a man in our caravan. You would call him a… a one who remembers ancient times.”

“A historian,” Janis said through his food.

She nodded. “Yes. He would know such things. To most of us, this is a remnant of a time best forgotten.”

“Some people love history.”

She eyed him as she slurped some of her soup. “In the end, the Waste puts them all to bed.”

“I remember people in J’Soon that dreamed of resurrecting the old Suzerainty.”

She smirked. “Silly city folk. Who else would want to bring back the people who kidnapped and murdered my people? Practiced their dark magics at our expense?” She shook her head. “This is what they deserved. The Waste is a paradise for us compared to that.” She paused and looked away. “Perhaps there was a time before the age of wizards when we sapiens kept to ourselves and used our own powers to change the world. Such a time is only a dream, now. The Waste is real.” Janis didn’t argue. They ate in silence, finished the food, rolled out their sleeping mats, and slept under the stars.

He found no rest. It was only an instant before she was rustling him awake. He helped her roll up the mats and pack up the horses, and they were off again. They traveled by day to avoid enemies. Sciana explained that the Waste was dangerous to travel through under the intense heat and travelers often avoided it. He could see why. His body vented water under the breathable robes. The suns swung to their zenith above them, and he wondered whether it wasn’t wiser to risk detection at night than dehydration during the day. Time dilated into an eternity of constant shuffling. The Waste was dry as ash. They passed more ruins. Some low in the ground and decayed but recognizable; others so decrepit that, like the mesa they’d slept beside last night, they took on new shapes. Some were indistinguishable from stalactites or hills. He wondered if the ash that comprised some of the dunes wasn’t the disintegrated remains of ancient cities like J’Soon. He remembered his grandfather telling stories of ancient times when Ethurien was visible in the night sky, its cities floating among the stars like a vision. He grasped for memories from his childhood, but they passed like mist. There was something looming deep down. A memory he’d long suppressed. He could feel it, but couldn’t recall any of its specifics. He only remembered some servant’s names, the look on his mother’s face as she scolded him for some reason, the sweat on his body training with Brethor to be a Shadowstalker.

Sciana was right. That’s what he’d been. A Shadowstalker. Haunter of the night, collector of secrets.

He was fumbling for the specifics when Sciana stopped in front of him. “Down,” she hissed as she slid off her horse. They’d been trotting towards the end of a low ridge to their left. He snapped into the present and slid off Cth’tata, nearly fell, then pulled the stubborn horse toward hers. She stayed low as she climbed the ridge and peeked over its edge. He followed. She held up her hand and motioned him to approach.

He settled on the cracked earth beside her. The Waste spread out before them for miles toward an infinite horizon. The remains of an old fortress sat half-sunk in a dune, recognizable by what had once been pillars along its outside. His throat was parched. “What?” he whispered.

She hushed him and pointed to their right. He searched through the