Chapter 57 - Cruel Fate

  Year 4241 of the Second Calendar, 9th cycle of Elaina

  “Someone's been asking after me?” Aaron asked. He stood near the exit of a smithy, overseeing the repairs of arms belonging to Eksa's fleet. Heat from the forge whelmed him from one side while a cool late harvest breeze clashed with it from the open doorway.

  “Never seen him before,” Jack said, picking beneath his sharp nails with the edge of a knife. “Ashen silver hair, middle aged looking, but sort of young too. Sturdy build, but a bit shorter than you and I.”

  The clash of metals rung loud within the walls. Sparks flew when hammers struck red hot iron. “And there's not been any ship that arrived on the island today to any of the ports?” Aaron imagined the general look of this person from Jack's descriptions, conjuring an all too non pleasing image well known to him for centuries.

  “None that I'm aware of. Strange thing is, he's asking for Aarondel, not Aaron. He's at the Raven's Brew, that tavern on the outskirts of Eksa's reach. The one where there's frequent fighting between us and the Tarmian stragglers.”

  Aaron narrowed his eyes. He scoured his brain, wondering if he'd mentioned his full first name to anyone fitting Jack's description. Nothing came to mind. He squeezed his friend's shoulder and headed outside, fully embracing the cooler temperatures. Daylight was fast in going. “Watch the smiths. They're almost done for the day. Just make sure they aren't doing anything suspicious so as to create faulty weapons.”

  Watching over craftsmen like this was no different than pressuring them as an oppressor. But there was little choice. The smiths were actual residents of Kovar who despised the Silver Serpent Pirates —the official name of the entire fleet as decided by Admiral Dhorjun. Forging faulty weapons was a very real threat Aaron had convinced Eksa to watch for, no matter how soft hearted she might be. I'm aiding in the oppression of my own people…

  Jack scratched his throat. “But I need a drink.”

  Aaron rolled up his sleeves, glancing to make sure every smith had his back turned before letting the half-blood bite into his lean forearm. “One, two, three, and you're done.” Jack swallowed a fourth time before pulling his fangs out, smiling like a mischievous child. Aaron sighed. “Whatever am I going to do with you?” He carried himself down the cobbles to the Raven's Brew.

  Part of the reason that bar saw fights was because of the dwindling numbers of the Tarmian faction on Kovar. Most of them had been choosing sides, joining hands with Dhorjun's group, or Eksa's. The former controlled most of the island town's brothels, while the latter had control over the entire fleet's armaments, over which Eksa levied a weighty tax. While the quality of drinks served on both sides of town were similar, it was no surprise that the southern side saw more customers with their cleaner common rooms and finer entertainment.

  Of course, smaller cliques of single ship pirate crews had formed. Ambitious though their captains might be, they went vastly ignored by the two factions who only played the part of a single united faction on the surface. In truth, it was a well known fact that these smaller cliques were merely riding the coattails of the Silver Serpents. Theirs crews were too small to pull off successful raids, yet the name of the Silver Serpents was enough to make any ill protected merchant vessel bow and scrape.

  “Viper, are you with me?” Aaron mumbled, placing his foot upon the stone steps of the Raven's Brew entrance. One of its windows was shattered, mere shards hanging on around the edges. Above the door was a signboard with a raven on it, its head white from gull droppings fallen on it.

  “Yes,” the Shadow Walker said. “Stay wary. I've watched this fellow for a bit. He feels… wrong is all I can say. Not the Dhorjun or Crow kind. Something far worse that makes even the Umbra feel warm by comparison.”

  “Mm.” Aaron opened the door, hearing the full breadth of superfluous arguments he'd only heard bits of from the damaged window. The arguments dimmed at the appearance of Captain Eksa's right hand as he was now commonly known, but didn't dissipate entirely. Lighting here was poor. The barkeep —a plump older woman with a dusty violet apron that was many sizes too small— kept grumbling to herself while shuffling to refill drinks. She had the shaft of a broken broomstick standing against the shelf of drinks behind her. Inept though she might've seemed, Flames knew how many times Aaron had seen her use that broomstick to split open brows or crack noses.

  He turned to an empty corner where the man in question sat quietly, a ragged brown coat around his shoulders but polished black boots clothing his feet. Those were hard to see, stowed away beneath the shade of a table as they were, but to anyone looking, it was plain obvious. Aaron's gaze rose to the man's face and his breath caught.

  Here was a man he'd seen before, but never yet. A man he'd heard tell of, but not from the mouths of any living. A man whose exact likeness he'd imagined just moments ago from Jackrin's descriptions. A man who made Aaron's hairs rise. A man who should have been long dead.

  Does he know who I am, Aaron wondered as he approached the table. He pulled out a chair, taking note of the cracked frame of the back support.

  “Ah, Aarondel,” the man said, beaming all of a sudden. “Here at last.”

  “You know my name, and that my face belongs to it, but I don't recall ever meeting you,” Aaron said, throwing an atmosphere fitting accent to his voice. He felt afraid. Felt the need to hide. This man was nothing to him. But the fact that this man was alive when no other of High House Zz'tai still lived, was enough to breed caution in Aaron's mind. And that caution in turn bred fear. And that fear was mind numbing.

  “The Goddess knows many things. And I am her apostle.”

  You are an apostle. But not of any Goddess. Aaron began rising from his seat. “If this is some half assed religious conversion Ash dust—”

  “It isn't,” the ashen haired man assured, maintaining his smile.

  Aaron twitched, just as he was beginning to feel glad for an excuse to leave. He reluctantly sat back down. He can't know me, Aaron convinced himself. If he had, I'd be dead already. “Make it quick then,” he grumbled, keeping up the false accent to appear slow witted. “I've got whores waiting on me.”

  “Of course you do, Aarondel Caranel. Of course you do.”

  Aaron blinked. The mention of one of the treacherous High Houses ignited a spark within. The barkeep came and left a flask of water before him as that was all he was known to ever order. He watched its ripples settle to stillness. Me, a Caranel?

  “Ah, so you didn't know, did you? You poor thing. Aarondel, bastard son of Agrienne Caranel. What if I told you, your inheritance is ripe for the taking, merely waiting for you to claim it.”

  Aaron swallowed. Over a year had passed and he'd yet to figure how to go about leaving Kovar. He found himself growing more and more attached to the island. To the crew even, and life on a ship. And most of all, Eksa. Leaving aside, he didn't even have a plan to go about restoring his family legacy on his own. And now, here in this gaunt tavern was when the misfortunes of his responsibilities all fell into his lap. His path was practically forging itself. Here came a dead man asking for Aarondel by name, claiming him the bastard of one of Xenaria's traitorous High Houses. An enemy unknowingly offering up the very blade with which Aaron might one day cut his head. The blade I'd wanted kept hidden.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Us against the world… Ha! And now I find someone claiming I'm to inherit the title of one of Xenaria's most influential Houses. The irony was unbearable. This was the kind of cruel joke Jack might have written into one of his faerie stories told on stormy nights. “Inheritance…” he mumbled.

  “Anything you could ever want right at your fingertips,” the man said, hands clasped together.

  “… Anything I could ever want, was it?”

  The man leaned in. “Anything money can buy.”

  Aaron gripped the flask and stared at his own reflection for a while. He then took a vulgar swig out of it, letting droplets roll down the sides of his mouth, before slamming it down on the table, grinning, as if contemplating the word 'anything'. He fished a copper quarter from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers. Then he turned and flicked the coin at one of two men bent over the counter drinking. It struck one on the back of the head and Aaron turned back as if nothing had happened at all.

  “Which Ashborn threw that?” came the spluttering call not long after.

  “Ooh, the tough guy act,” said a deeper voice. “You ain't wooing no one with those limp arms o'yours. And I mean all three of 'em.”

  Someone smashed a bottle. Liquid and glass shards splattered across the floor. Aaron spared a glance to see one man stab the other with a glass shank. And that was all it took for a fight to break out, for the two in conflict belonged to opposing cliques. And Eksa's brawlers outnumbered the straggling Tarmians in the tavern. Perhaps a little violence would finally tip them into joining her side. Aaron's parting gift to her.

  The man sitting across from him seemed to be grinding his teeth. Right. This one prefers meticulous organization more than most. Or so Aaron's memories informed him.

  “Your answer, boy?” the man demanded.

  Aaron crossed his arms, tilting his chair out to widen his vision and keep an eye on the chaos behind him. “I don't like it here,” he lied. “Everything is broken. The tables. The chairs. The bottles. Flames. Even the women. Anything new arriving is used and damaged before a tenth of the first night ends. You're saying, I can leave this Ash blessed pig pen, and become a Lord just like that. An' all I gotta do is follow you?”

  “Land of your own,” said the man. “Manors of your own. Civil people to revere you. Soldiers to obey you. Food you've only dreamt of. Drink you'd never taste here. C—”

  Aaron raised a brow. “Not sure about that one. Plenty of worldly drinks down here.” He took another sip. A bottle flew over his shoulder and he flinched. It shattered upon impact with the wall.

  “An exception then. But Red Vine, the chief town of your rule, is known for its wines. And lastly of course, expensive courtesans to make yours.”

  Aaron now raised both brows. He finished the remaining water in his flask and then leaned in toward the table, pretending to be captivated by that last mention. “Is that right? And what do you get out of the deal, mister…”

  “Odain.”

  So he's going with the name given him by his master. Rumor had reached Kovar of a man by that name known to be the Vicegerent of a growing faith in Xenaria. There was also some mention of his appointment as First Chancellor to a new queen or some such. If the man himself was here to recruit Aaron, one could only assume it was because he wanted a puppet for a High Lord. “Right. Odain. We pirates are hoarders you see. What you're offering, it's great and all. But what am I trading away for something so sweet?”

  Odain's lips twitched. “You are the only living heir of High House Caranel. What I get is security in Xenaria's northern regions. And an ally. Simply put, if I ask for you to do something, you will do it. Naturally, I will never ask for absurdities that would disorient your elegant living conditions.”

  An admission to debauchery while assuming I'm just as debauched just because I'm a pirate. Aaron decided to play up his stupidity a little more. “Absur what now?” he frowned. “Quit it with the rich folk language. Or I might just decide to rob you instead. Speaking like that 'round here ain't much different than pulling jingling pants down for a piss. If the pockets are full, we'll take it no matter the situation.”

  Lines on Odain's face began to show as he spared his gaze for the ongoing brawls behind Aaron. “Will you come, or won't you?”

  “You mean, will I come or will I be dragged like a dog? I've been around enough bags to know which ones full of dust and which one's full of stone. Your eyes are made of stone. Jagged and sharp and entirely unfit to throw punches at.” Aaron glared. He could kill this man here. But then, would he die if he hadn't already? Probably not.

  “Intuitive. A good trait for a lord,” Odain said.

  Aaron chewed on his inner cheek. This was it. This was his out from piracy, from Kovar, and a break from Eksa no matter how much he yearned for her. He imagined a future reunited with her, him as king, and her as Xenaria's naval arm. The pitiful whims of a boy lost. “I'll come,” he said. His duty extended far beyond reclaiming the throne and restoring a tainted legacy. And to serve it well, it demanded his full focus. Not a second could be spared for fanciful dreams.

  He slowly stood and a short lasting hush fell over the tavern, his fighting prowess known to all. Though his sword was still in his cabin, Aaron was well known for being just as deadly with bare fists as well. He'd felled many a challenger in the past few cycles, and many knew him still for having the guts to challenge Dhorjun.

  He made for the door and headed out. Illusterra's moons were out and unhindered, all three frowning.

  Odain soon joined him. “Reach the mainland with whatever vessel you wish. Head for the port town of Assak. I'll have an escort awaiting you there.”

  “Why can't I take whatever vessel you've arrived on?” Aaron asked suspecting Odain's method of travelling to have involved Chornary on some level. But would he reveal such information to me? He decided to prod a little more. “Hold on. I didn't hear of any vessels arriving to the island recently. How long have you been here?”

  Odain's eyes narrowed. “I've some other business. Assak, Lord Caranel. From there, you will be taken to the capital. We will meet again t—”

  Aaron gripped him and pulled him in, playing his role to the end. He wondered if Jack could've done better himself. “If I smell even a hint of a trap—”

  “Trap?” Odain scowled. “You aren't important enough to be singled out for a trap. But your father was highborn enough for me to seek you out at the least. Remember, boy. I'm granting you this power. I can easily take it away.” He gripped Aaron's wrist and squeezed.

  Aaron let go. Despite his earlier claims of Odain's stature, it might have looked strange if he didn't seem at least a little suspicious of the offer. “So you aren't all words,” he grumbled, pretending to feel dejected. Eksa's stomping heels could be heard coming down the street. She was oblivious to his presence as he stood within the shadows of the tavern building.

  “An acquaintance?” Odain asked.

  “Ac what now?”

  “Someone you know.”

  “No,” Aaron said. The less of his connections this man knew, the better. To think he now controls Xenaria… “Assak? The one much farther west than Qalydon, right? I'll be there soon enough. This escort, how do I recognize them?”

  “They'll be wearing robes with a three petal flower on it. The only ones. Someone intuitive like you won't miss it.”

  Aaron grunted. He turned toward the harbor, glad to be away from Odain. The man ducked into an alley and did not return, making obvious his methods of travel. “You're coming with me?” Aaron asked the open air.

  “Of course,” came Viper's hoarse reply. “When do we leave?”

  “Tonight.” Tonight and before Eksa returns to the Scarlet Reaver. He didn't have the heart for farewells. Aaron boarded the Reaver upon reaching the harbor. He found Jackrin sitting at the edge with his legs over the side. He thrummed solemn notes from that borrowed harp of his.

  “The smiths did their jobs without issue,” the half Vampire said.

  “Jackrin, I'm leaving. Both Viper and I. I've been… offered the position of High Lord Caranel.”

  “Offered, eh? I was wondering when you would leave. Started to think you might not after so long. This ship is going to be real boring without you and Viper.” He thrummed more, creating a slow moving song that sounded like it had lyrics that went unsung. There was a loosely flapping sheet in Jackrin's lap, held only by his elbows from being blown away. A song was written on it. “She's going to hate you for leaving.”

  “I'll leave a note,” Aaron said.

  “That'll only make her hate you further,” Viper said. “Might even start drinking again.”

  “Cruel is fate and the eternity that spins it,” Jack sung. “Cruel is love, the violence none escape. Bound are all to this unending writ. And bound we'll be, forever to this play. Chasing shadows that were never really there. Till our voices are just but memories in the air. And in time, those too will fade. For eternity cannot be delayed.

  “I'll miss you both,” Jack said, planting his feet on deck. The sheet in his hand was blown loose, the wind carrying it away toward the sea.

  Aaron pressed his forehead against Jack's. “I know. We're brothers, always have been, always will be. Look after her for me.”

  “Things don't tend to last when they're put in my care.”

  “You sell yourself short.”

  “I might just get bored and come looking for you two.”

  “Jack…”

  “I'll try.”

  Aaron sighed. He thought a farewell with Eksa would be too difficult. This was tearing him in two already. He thumped a fist against the jester's chest before heading below deck to gather his belongings. He stopped at Eksa's cabin last. She would be expecting him there when she returned. And she'd find a note on her desk instead, written with her own ink and with her own pen, and on a spare sheet of paper of her own as well.

  And then he left to find a captain willing to ferry him to Assak this very night, Viper hidden in the shadows, following.