ground with a thud. The crew is up, parsing through the packages to see what food and supplies they were sent.
“I thought they were going to send us out some fruit… or some bread. We had nothing but old soup here for the last week.”
“Stop crying or I’ll bring you nurse milk.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Here, Jack, see that row of posts over there? Take her on over and tie her up for the night. Halis, show Jack how to tie her up. And get her some water and grain.”
“All right,” says Halis. “Come on, Jack.”
Jack’s feet turn to lead on the ground as he looks into those familiar bitter eyes.
“Problem, Jack?”
“No.”
Jack follows to the side of the shelter, leading the mare, and watches with apprehension as Halis takes the lead and loops a tight knot around the post.
“Like this,” he says, “nice and tight. Water is over here.”
Halis goes around the corner and motions for Jack to follow him. Cold fear clenches him and he looks furtively to Aiden and Braylon. Their attention is with the crew and they don’t notice.
“Come on, Jack, let’s go.”
He steps around the corner, where Halis is dipping water out of a barrel into a wooden bucket. When it’s full he holds it out to Jack.
“Here, take it.”
As he reaches for it, Halis shoots a hand up and clenches it around his throat and the water spills all over his clothes. He tries to breathe and a thin retching sound comes out.
“You took my brother,” Halis says icily. “You ruined it.” Jack wheezes and looks at him with huge round pupils. Halis belts him in the stomach. “Don’t you speak a word of this, do you understand?”
Jack squeezes a small affirmative noise out of this burning throat and Halis relents.
“Good.”
Away up on the Temple’s flattened apex, under the intermittent shade of the slatted redwood terrace, Arana leans with his elbows resting against the balustrade and gazes out at the expansive grounds and reflecting pool. His followers move about far below like figurine miniatures, walking off to their homes or work or lounging around the pool as if posing for a portrait session. Arana tilts his mug and empties its contents, then holds it out and shakes it with a slight flick of his wrist. A stunning young beauty rises from the divan and carries over a decorated clay carafe and pours his mug full of pale wine.
“Thank you, Isabel,” he says. She is swollen with child and Arana brushes a wisp of chestnut hair from her face and tenderly kisses her forehead. She smiles politely and bows to him.
Keslin stretches his arms out along the back of the padded bench, legs crossed effetely, simmering with content. “And Vallen is no loss at all. Killed by a child. Not really the mark of a bravery.”
“I saw the boy. What, twelve? Thirteen?”
“Around.”
“What is he like?” Arana asks, intrigued.
“Sent to the quarry. Don’t know much else.”
In the years since these ventures began, they have endured only five such casualties, and none inflicted by a child. Arana nods and looks off. Shuttles of wind set the branches swaying in the inland forest and the gentle rasping of leaves purrs across the Temple grounds, and he quietly pays homage to the everlasting forces of the Beyond that have coursed through him since birth.
Keslin flicks his sharp eyes at Arana and watches this odd reverie with mild curiosity. Two housemaids arrive and shift quietly between the furniture, gathering cups and servingware, and then slip out the way they came, unnoticed. Isabel dozes and snores lightly and Arana wakes her and steadies her to her feet and sends her inside. He takes her place when she’s gone, hitching a leg up and reclining back in the midday warmth.
“I think we should go back to the city.”
Keslin shakes his head briskly. “There’s nothing there. It’s dead.”
“We should look harder. I’ll go myself this time. I’ve always wanted to.”
“That’s not wise.”
“Why?”
“You
“I thought they were going to send us out some fruit… or some bread. We had nothing but old soup here for the last week.”
“Stop crying or I’ll bring you nurse milk.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Here, Jack, see that row of posts over there? Take her on over and tie her up for the night. Halis, show Jack how to tie her up. And get her some water and grain.”
“All right,” says Halis. “Come on, Jack.”
Jack’s feet turn to lead on the ground as he looks into those familiar bitter eyes.
“Problem, Jack?”
“No.”
Jack follows to the side of the shelter, leading the mare, and watches with apprehension as Halis takes the lead and loops a tight knot around the post.
“Like this,” he says, “nice and tight. Water is over here.”
Halis goes around the corner and motions for Jack to follow him. Cold fear clenches him and he looks furtively to Aiden and Braylon. Their attention is with the crew and they don’t notice.
“Come on, Jack, let’s go.”
He steps around the corner, where Halis is dipping water out of a barrel into a wooden bucket. When it’s full he holds it out to Jack.
“Here, take it.”
As he reaches for it, Halis shoots a hand up and clenches it around his throat and the water spills all over his clothes. He tries to breathe and a thin retching sound comes out.
“You took my brother,” Halis says icily. “You ruined it.” Jack wheezes and looks at him with huge round pupils. Halis belts him in the stomach. “Don’t you speak a word of this, do you understand?”
Jack squeezes a small affirmative noise out of this burning throat and Halis relents.
“Good.”
Away up on the Temple’s flattened apex, under the intermittent shade of the slatted redwood terrace, Arana leans with his elbows resting against the balustrade and gazes out at the expansive grounds and reflecting pool. His followers move about far below like figurine miniatures, walking off to their homes or work or lounging around the pool as if posing for a portrait session. Arana tilts his mug and empties its contents, then holds it out and shakes it with a slight flick of his wrist. A stunning young beauty rises from the divan and carries over a decorated clay carafe and pours his mug full of pale wine.
“Thank you, Isabel,” he says. She is swollen with child and Arana brushes a wisp of chestnut hair from her face and tenderly kisses her forehead. She smiles politely and bows to him.
Keslin stretches his arms out along the back of the padded bench, legs crossed effetely, simmering with content. “And Vallen is no loss at all. Killed by a child. Not really the mark of a bravery.”
“I saw the boy. What, twelve? Thirteen?”
“Around.”
“What is he like?” Arana asks, intrigued.
“Sent to the quarry. Don’t know much else.”
In the years since these ventures began, they have endured only five such casualties, and none inflicted by a child. Arana nods and looks off. Shuttles of wind set the branches swaying in the inland forest and the gentle rasping of leaves purrs across the Temple grounds, and he quietly pays homage to the everlasting forces of the Beyond that have coursed through him since birth.
Keslin flicks his sharp eyes at Arana and watches this odd reverie with mild curiosity. Two housemaids arrive and shift quietly between the furniture, gathering cups and servingware, and then slip out the way they came, unnoticed. Isabel dozes and snores lightly and Arana wakes her and steadies her to her feet and sends her inside. He takes her place when she’s gone, hitching a leg up and reclining back in the midday warmth.
“I think we should go back to the city.”
Keslin shakes his head briskly. “There’s nothing there. It’s dead.”
“We should look harder. I’ll go myself this time. I’ve always wanted to.”
“That’s not wise.”
“Why?”
“You
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