XIII.

• The rickety wooden fence creaked in the wind, but the silence remained king in the Widows. The grass had grown long and unruly, and moss sprouted between the cracks in the large stone cottage. Its thatched roof was ordinary, and the house itself looked like the dozens that surrounded it. Squat, plain, and overrun with unkempt. When the door swung open, he half expected to find the place empty.
• What he found instead was a girl with a loaded cross-bow aimed at his chest.
• “Move and you’ll be deader than last night’s dinner.”
• “Eena?” Harver Jun took a step closer and a blast of wind whipped by his ear. The violent ‘thunk’ of the bolt struck the door-frame, shaking with a twang. It took a moment for Jun to realize she had shot at him, and in that moment the crossbow was loaded again.
• “Oops.” By the look on her face, she wasn’t sorry.
• “Okay, fair enough.” He raised his hands slowly, remaining in place. He had to fight to keep the panic from his voice. Just like that, his life could have ended; he had to learn to be more careful. He wasn’t in Harvesthome anymore.
• “I don’t miss twice.” Her words were cold, sincere; clashing with their youthful pitch. Her curly blonde hair glowed in the candle-light; a marvel among the common dark locks of the Woodsmen. Jun wondered just how different from them all she had been. Eena Hobbin, Nor Makus’s ward. “Take another step, and you’ll be choking on regret. And blood. Mostly blood.” Jun couldn’t help but laugh.
• “You’ve changed.”
• “Tell me about it.” Her aim was steady, her glare was patient. She wasn’t nervous, shaking, angry. She was a sentinel of pure determination; Jun was impressed. More than impressed, he was surprised. Eena Hobbin had always struck him as a timid little girl, but seeing her now made him second-guess his first impressions.
• “We’ve all changed, Eena.”
• “Some more than others.”
• “I can see that.”
• “Can you?” Pause. “What do you want?” Her words were curt.
• “I want to speak with Nor.” The silence that followed was too long; she had given up the ruse.
• “She’s dead.” The crossbow didn’t wave; it was the best lie she could tell. But Jen knew better.
• “Come on, Eena.” He tried to be sympathetic, but her finger flinched; fortunately it wasn’t strong enough to release the bolt. “We know that’s not true.”
• “Don’t make me kill you, Jun.”
• “Ronea was worried about you, the way you disappeared. She thinks you’re dead.” The other’s eyes grew a little wider, the bow quivered. “A lot has happened, since that night Eena; and a lot more will happen still. But she’s safe; Mona too. The Harvesters are safe, they’re being taken care of. Things have changed, but it’s for the better. Now put don’t the bow.” She didn’t move. “I know things have been tough—“
• “You don’t know Shit, Harver!” Jun flinched, he was certain the next moment would be his last, but the twang didn’t come. “You think you know so much, you even made us believe you. But you don’t know shit! This isn’t Harvesthome, and this isn’t the Crux. Why should I believe you?!” There was pain in her voice. Was she going to cry? Jun wondered how far he could push her.
• “Enough.” The word was commanding, filled the empty space. The voice was familiar, comforting in memory; starling in tone. “Eena, that’s enough.” The girl lowered her bow, and her head followed. Jun could hear the silence of sobbing; she was still a little girl after all. “I expected you sooner.”
• The woman shuffled into the room, bent over like the frail woman she appeared to be. Her eyes were intense, gazing straight into him; unwavering. Her voice was a musical mix of humor and power, the uplifting note that he had needed at the moment. Yet something seemed off. Jun struggled to grasp what it could be, but it eluded him like the ever fading light of Morendo.
• “You’re alive.”
• “You don’t seem surprised.” Nor Makus chuckled, but it was humorless; even sarcastic. “You should be, times have been tough. But Eena’s right. You don’t know shit. Hah.” She sized him up, a wide smile spreading across her elderly features. “It’s so good to see you again.” The twinkle in her eye made him want to cry. It was old times again, seen through the fog of cynicism. Inside he knew the truth, it would never be like old-times. Their lives had changed so much.
• “Nor…Corin Mohanas is—“
• “Come inside, we shouldn’t talk about things in the open like this.” Nor turned painfully back to the doorway from which she had emerged, Jun wondered if it was an act. “Eena, you can bar the door now. Heat the wheat-bragg, and make sure to heat the oven too. We’ll need it nice and hot for the Autumn-bread. Fill the oven, then watch the door.” She chuckled and waddled into the darkness of the room beyond. “Shoot anyone that enters, dear! Anyone at all.”
• Eena avoided Jun’s gaze, going about her tasks with practiced diligence. There was a certain practice to her movements, a level of maturity that far superseded her years. How old had she been? Twelve? Eleven? Somehow that seemed hard to believe. She was every bit as old as Jun, maybe even more weathered than he could ever become. He didn’t need to be astute to feel the somberness in the air; it was stale with hopelessness. Had he been too late?
• The room beyond was simple, no different than what Jun had suspected the other houses to look like. Nor Makus lowered herself to a wooden chair, and worked at wrapping a knobby bulb onto the end of a straight stick. Jun eyed the contraption curiously, only then noticing that her desk and drawers were stocked full with them. She smiled at him, the familiar distance gaze passing over her eyes. Jun sat in a chair opposite of her, every single inch of him ached from the meeting with Mr. Club. Nor didn’t seem to notice his wounds.
• “First things first,” she started, placing the stick down among the pile of others, “who led you here?” Jun could feel the implications of the question; he had prepared for this.
• “I don’t know specifically.”
• “I don’t need specifics, Jun. Who was behind it? The Merchant? The Duke? The Noble swords-man? The Blacksmith? The Constable? I need to know who found out where I was hiding. It’s important.” Nor gave him an important look, Jun just sighed.
• “Majore.”
• “The Merchant. Don’t use names around here. Attracts the flies faster than shit.” She sighed, shaking her ghostly white hair. “Could be worse. Could be that damn Noble; Whyburr Steevs. Can’t stand that man. He’d be worse.”
• “I’m not sure about that. Majore isn’t to be underestimated. Suffice to say it’s not safe here anymore. I’m sorry, you’ll have to leave as soon as I’m gone; but I had to meet with you.” Nor grimaced.
• “Listen to you, sound just like a Solsticean.” Jun was taken aback. “I was afraid you were becoming one of them. Didn’t think I was going to have to lecture you on this.” She grabbed another stick and Jun noticed it for what it was. An arrow. “What happened to that boy I used to know. So determined to change the world, so sick of sitting around.”
• “Things aren’t that easy, Nor.”
• “Nothing’s easy! Doesn’t mean we slow ourselves down! How do you expect to get things rolling again, once the boulder comes to a standstill? Momentum, Jun. It’s all about momentum, and you’ve lost it.” She whacked him across the hand with the shaft, and pointed the end on his nose. “Nothing is ever easy.” She pulled a bulb from a canvas satchel and used gut to tie it to the arrow-head. “Didn’t stop you from taking Harvesthome. Oh sure, things are different, I’ll hear your excuses in a moment, but I have more questions.” She rocked back and her chair carried the momentum forward and back again and again. Jun wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of her appearance. She looked like an old hag.
• “You’re face; it’s completely healed.” Jun froze for a moment, confused. It took him a moment before he realized that the last time he had seen her was when his mouth had been half-sewn shut. “You’re arm isn’t broke, nor in a sling. You look like shit, but I suspect those bruises are from a drunken brawl.” She leaned close, “Or maybe a late night tussle? Heh, heh.” Her grin was wicked, yet endearing. She was crazy, no doubt about it.
• “I don’t know how to explain it.”
• “The truth would be a good place to begin. Start with thinking, and then add details, after that comes theory; speculation. I’ll even take rumor at this point; stranger things can be believed.” She rocked back again, and pulled another arrow from a deep basket, pulling the gut and bulb together at one end. Jun was mesmerized by the precision of her slightly crooked fingers; she had always been nimble; but this work would have been difficult for anyone to manage. He shook the thought and the curiosity that clutched at him; he would have plenty of time to ask questions.
• So he told his story instead. He spoke of the night after the Revolt, the forming of the council, the massacre at Jola Harven’s ranch, the decision to destroy the Kingwood, and the brilliant flare that resulted. She watched him speak intently, not reacting to anything in particular; but staring on with an intent glare. He explained the inexplicable appearance of Regional Grand-Judge Kregg Linnsey; the shitstorm that followed, and the literal storm that suddenly ensued. He explained in great detail the way he felt as the life was squeezed out of his body, and even revealed the visions he had as the caravan escorted them into Solstice. The raining blood, the bubbling boulders, even the girl walking into mid-air. He explained Majore Jeleps, Duke Arinold, and the current dilemma of the Harvesters that had made it to Solstice.
• Of course, he left Hal out of everything.
• When he was done, there was a long moment of silence. Nor Makus leaned back and placed the arrow aside that she had been working on. She inhaled deep and lifted a seemingly frail hand to her chin. Jun had to shake the image of weakness; he had seen her kill with that hand before. She was no old woman.
• “This is…alarming news, Jun.” She stared off into the distance, the silence enshrouding them. She looked at him, thought about what she was going to ask next; and then took another moment to think before she spoke. “Where’s Sana now?”
• Sana.
• Jun flinched; a chill shot up his spine.
• The last he had seen her was in the stables with Hyatt Mejini. Not exactly the parting he would have hoped for. He shook his head and looked at her helplessly. Nor stared at him, her face a cold calm expression of blank. He couldn’t read her expression, but he also didn’t mind. He could only guess how disappointed she may be in him. For a moment he felt like a scolded child, and though he tried to shake the feeling, he couldn’t; and that only made him feel more pathetic.
• “Where is Kregg Linnsey now?” Jun was confused, not expecting this question.
• “In the North, somewhere beyond the Plate. He said he had other matters to attend to.”
• “Other trees, perhaps.”
• “That’s what I thought. He called it a SiphonTree, but he was more than vague about his mission. He searched the burnt Kingwood for hours, picking at the dirt; rubbing at the bark. It seemed like he was searching for something, I couldn’t figure it out, and his personal guard wouldn’t let me get close.”
• “Whatever he wanted, it cannot be good.” She looked deep into Jun’s eyes suddenly, and her glare turned stern. “I’m worried about you, Jun. I’m glad you’re healed, but it isn’t natural. Your arm should still be braced, and even your scars have cleared. Sana is well versed with the needle, but your face was broken. I feared it may never heal.” She reached out and touched his lips where the dull ache lived on only in memory. “No bumps, no jagged skin, no scar, no sign at all. I am concerned.
• “Trees catching fire don’t heal people’s wounds, Jun.”
• “It didn’t catch fire, it exploded.”
• “I know this. We could all see it from the valley. The entire sky lit up, Dal Niente was brighter than Corna in full reign. You wouldn’t believe what people were saying. ‘Rentis-Sphere has come’, ‘The reckoning, the end of time and life’. ‘But I didn’t see a haunted moon, Rentis Sphere is a crock of shit,’ and on and on. The rubbish people blather, it was more painful than looking directly into that light; and that was painful enough.” Jun had remembered it differently, he could still remember the tug it had on his chest; how the flare had compelled him forward. “But… to hear you say that it came from the Kingwood…I can’t begin to imagine how that is possible.”
• “The Thrush-Rays, they grew manic when the flames hit them; and the hive was larger than anything I’ve ever seen.” Nor snorted and lifted an arrow she had been working on, the bulb glistened in the light. “They explode.”
• “Ah yes, the Rays. Nature’s bastard spawn. You know what these are? On the end of the shaft here?” She held it out to Jun for him to examine. At a closer glance it was an oblong sphere wrapped in a thin white membrane; the candle light shone through, revealing liquid. “They are Thrush-Ray eggs.”
• “What?”
• “The eggs of Thrush-Ray, Thrush-Ray eggs; you know what I am saying. Don’t ask what, it’s irritating. If you hear someone say something than don’t make them—”
• “Nor.”
• She mumbled like a crotchety hag, then placed the shaft on the pile and pulled another free from the tall basket by her chair. “When I was younger, not young, but younger… Manala told me how they can pop; creates a spark too. She said that children in the Crux used them as a prank, to scare other children. Scared the shit out of me though. Turns out they catch fire when thrown hard enough, put them on the end of an arrow…” She trailed off, weaving the gut deftly. “These bastards can pop in your hands, they are so fragile. How odd these creatures are; so fragile, so dangerous.”
• Manala. She had known all along what the Thrush were capable of. Jun grit his teeth.
• “Like the Kingwood.”
• “Mmm. Smart. Perhaps the Kingwood was never a normal tree to begin with. But that’s the other thing. That flare, as you call it…it was warm; we could feel the breeze from the Knife and it was warm. Like summer. How do you expect me to believe that Harvesthome didn’t go up in heat and smoke?” She spoke with hesitation, and oddly the tension was immediately palpable.
• “I can’t explain that. If it had gone up in smoke, wouldn’t I be dead?”
• “Who’s to say you aren’t? You show up in Solstice, completely healed. You’re alone, and completely transformed in stature and personality. You find me, despite my precautions, ask me for favors, and expect me to believe the impossible things you tell me. Which is hard enough as it is, but to top that all off; you’re clearly insane, seeing hallucinations and hearing things that don’t exist. How can I trust you like I did before? With everything that been happening; it’s more likely that you are some Rentis-reincarnate come to devour my flesh than the Harver Jun I once knew.
• “You’re unfit to lead. I would be a fool to trust you.”
• The silence was long. Both remained still staring into each other.
• “More unfit than the Justices?”
• “Jun—”
• “More unfit than the Majore? Than the Solsticean Nobles? More unfit than some Scigfried royal prince, leagues away, who has never set foot in our fields?! More unfit than Jola Harven, who condemned the lives of his family; of wives and daughters, for pride?! Duke Arinold, is he fit to lead? A man who bases his worth on the weight of his wallet, and the words on other tongues? Manala, is she more fit to lead?
• “Am I more unfit to rule than you?” The words were sharp, Nor hissed raising to her feet.
• “Don’t you dare! I will not be taken for a usurper of power!”
• “But you are still a leader. You don’t take the power, it’s granted to you! And you are responsible for it; you are responsible for the lives that rest on your shoulders. You think that you can shrug the responsibility to someone who is Fit to lead?! Do you think Eena follows you because you chose to be leader, because you see yourself fit?
• “A leader is chosen, not by himself; but by the people who need him to lead.”
• When he stopped yelling, the silence poured back in around them from somewhere outside the room. It filled the crevasses between the furniture, the space between the enraged man and the feeble woman slowly slumping back into her rocker. The silence was thick, the cold depths of a black lake. There was a lot of it, and it held reign for a long time. Jun felt a presence standing beside him, yet he refused to look; knowing it could only be a ghost from his past.
• “I have not chosen to be a leader, Nor. I would never want this. I would never ask this from anyone, or thrust it on them. I could never share this burden without fear of it crushing those I care about; and still they die. The responsibility is too much, it’s like a plague; I try to separate myself, to hold it all in. But those who try to help are caught up in the contagion. Those that I trust most, those that I put my faith in are killed.
• “Ellis Tuln. Jore Jun. Jore Jun.  Corin Mohanas. My own mother!” His voice was a harsh whisper. Seems like everyone forgot about me. Hal. “Who else has to die before you understand that I am not the power hunger monster that I hunt. I am not the Brood that was my father, I am not a creature to be calmed or rationed with.” Jun was rasping now, his breath coming heavy. “I am not fit to lead. But I Will. I will because it is my weight to carry, my burden to manage.”
• “Something big is going on, Jun. Too big for you to manage alone; perhaps even with help from the rest of us. It’s killing you, turning you into something you are not. You’ve been swept up in it all.”
• “It’s a Revolution, Nor. People change.”
• “Revolution, tuh. What is it you plan to accomplish? How do you see this all ending?”
• Ronea’s words came back to him, then. Her soft voice breaking in sorrow. Death. That’s the only way, to kill and die. Nor stood suddenly, tall and powerful; all sense of feebleness gone. “You freed Harvesthome, and you’ve made it to Solstice. Now what? Does Solstice need freeing? Does Solstice want your help? Are you planning on taking over Olmeer? Orphan? Helen?” Her words were sharp, like the lash of a whip. “What do you want.”
• And for the first time since he could remember, Jun didn’t have a clue.
• They sat in silence, his rage bleeding out of his body faster than he could hold on to it. Of course, she was right. He may have the passion, the vision of what needed to be done; but what would it yield? What was the result he needed so badly? He searched for the words, but they weren’t there.
• Was it shame? No. It was the guilt of indecision. He didn’t know what he wanted now, because he had tasted a way of life he never knew existed.
• Luxury. Class. Frivolry. Drink and other drug. Wealth. Influence.
• And he didn’t have to work for any of it.
• He was comfortable now, and he had worked hard to get to this point. He had fought, argued, waited, killed, deceived, and betrayed to get to this point. Wasn’t this his by right? Wasn’t this what he had been fighting for? A better life? Equality? Suddenly he wasn’t so sure why he had even fought so hard. He felt sick inside, weaving the contrasting sensations: guilty for his selfishness, and childish for his guilt. If this was what he had wanted, he shouldn’t feel that guilt. He should be able to drop the burden.
• He didn’t know what he wanted.
• Maybe it was better than way.
• I found your Mother, Jun. I saw what you did to her. Don’t you think she would have been better off not knowing?
• It wasn’t.
• And he couldn’t.
• “I’m not going anywhere, Nor.” She looked down at him suddenly, and he slowly met her gaze. He wouldn’t be stopped, he couldn’t be halted. If he slowed down for just a moment, everything would fall to pieces. It was all about momentum, and again he had to swallow the fact that she was right. But he did, and when he looked at her his eyes burnt with conviction.
• “I’ve come here to repay the debt we owe Solstice.” His words were fire.
• “Revenge? That’s what you want?”
• “No. I want Justice.” She smiled then, a feeble old smile that seemed to spread throughout her entire body.
• “That’s nice.” She sat back down and continued her work. Jun felt like a torch being dunked in the snow.
• “I mean it.”
• “Well, I won’t know that until you prove it.” She wrapped another bulb to the shaft and gently placed it on the bundle accumulating on her desk. “Proof is in the action of doing. You did well in Harvesthome, and I believe that you are on to something here. But you’re playing a new game now, a game you are not very familiar with.” She clicked her tongue. “Majore Jeleps, may Chalton Rentis devour his soul, he is no force to be taken lightly.”
• “I know that.”
• “I can tell. Met Mr. Club, did you? Just one of many puppets.”
• “How do you know about him?” Nor just snorted.
• “Him? I wouldn’t say that. That thing has no gender, no human resemblance. Rentis-Brood if you ask me. You didn’t, but I’ll tell you anyway; that thing has no conscious, no soul.” Nor paused her work with the gut and looked up to Jun. “He visits the Widows periodically, smashes up one of the girls and drags her broken body back to whatever hole Majore hides in. He’s a monster. A savage, even worse than the ‘Plateauians’.” Jun felt his rage boil, something inside of him stirred and he had to work hard to cool it.
• “I mistook Majore for a fool.”
• “Any wise-man would want you to think that.” Nor placed another arrow on the stack. “You see, that’s the difference between the Duke and the Merchant. One man spends his whole life trying to be something better, to be seen as wise and benevolent; yet remains a fool. And the man who seems the fool will never be seen for what he truly is: the real manipulator of events. Don’t get involved in their games Jun, you’ll end up a pawn. And then when your usefulness is through, you’ll end up dead.”
• The silence was palpable, but Jun could taste the sweetness.
• That was it. Mathius Betheloo was the key, and Majore was the lock.
• “Corin is dead.”
• “I know.” The words were empty, Nor worked silently. Not knowing what to do, Jun sat and waited. “He was close, Jun. So close I was certain he had him. But Majore is only one snake in this nest.” She looked at him, wet eyes glistening; yet a smile rested on her lips. “We were betrayed.” Blood turned to ice, and Jun’s hair stood on end. This he hadn’t known.
• “By who?”
• “That I don’t know. Or he or she would be long dead. Don’t think me feeble, Jun. Majore has his creatures, and I have mine.” Like a poorly timed joke, Eena walked into the room unannounced; carrying two wooden bowls of steamed wheat-bragg. Resting in the middle was a dollop of Thrush-sap. “We may be down but we’re not out. Isn’t that right, dear?” Eena nodded, avoiding Jun’s gaze. Jun dipped the wooden spoon into the bragg and grimaced, there wasn’t enough Thrush-sap to make this enjoyable; and his previous meals had been lavish to say the least. Nor noticed the reaction and laughed loud. “Some people never change. Others seem to change overnight.”
• Eena turned to leave but Nor called after her, freezing her in place.
• “Eena, tell Jun about the man you killed.” The silence was long, Jun tried not to look surprised.
• The girl didn’t turn around. “I shot him in the neck; he said he was looking for food and shelter.”
• “And tell Jun why you shot him.”
• “Because he was fat.” Jun choked on his bragg, and the girl was gone; leaving Nor laughing uncontrollably.
• “That girl has some balls… pardon the expression. Can you believe she’s a Hobbin? For Rentis’ sake, Ronea is her older sister. That feeble prune is as useless as tinder underwater.” Nor mumbled, scooping up her meal. Jun finally caught his breath and stared at the old woman until she couldn’t ignore him anymore. “I may have had something to do with it, but she’s her own woman; I don’t tell her what to do.” She pointed the spoon at Jun like a dagger. “Besides, she’s got good instincts. The man turned out to be one of Majore’s. Didn’t even cost us a bolt, the way his fat neck caught it. Which brings me to my next point: never trust a fat man begging for food. A lesson that Eena learnt well.”
• “She’s just a child.”
• “And so are you, to some.” Nor snapped back.
• “Children and Hags, trying to topple Solstice. You think we stand a chance?”
• “Alone? No, that’s stupid.”
• “There’s a way.”
• “You can forget it.” She retorted. “You couldn’t possibly have a plan that could fool Majore and Arinold. They’re too suspicious of you.” He wasn’t falling for it; he knew she was testing him. Always the teacher, Nor Makus. “Besides, if there was a way out, I would have thought of it by now.”
• “You’re too old and stubborn. Besides, you haven’t had the experiences I have. I understand what makes Arinold tick, and I know Majore’s weakness.” This seemed to get her attention, and she stopped mid bite. “And I have the perfect opportunity to exact my plan, not to mention the support we’ll need to manage it.” He leaned in close to emphasize his point. “All I need from you, is a little influence.”
• “Oh?”
• “That’s right. Since you’ll have to do more running around now that I’ve exposed you, you’ll have a chance to visit the wretches of the Widows.” Nor Makus made an effort to interject but he bulled her over. “They are the lowest rung in the social strata, lower than servants, lower than slaves, lower than sheeswae! I don’t expect you to know what that means, so I’ll tell you.
• “It means that the Duke will never see them. And even if he does, he’s too important to acknowledge them. His reputation in society wouldn’t allow it.” The silence was firm, Jun leaned back. “That leaves Majore, and he doesn’t play by the same rules.
• “Nor, I may not be fit to rule, but I know what I’m doing. I’m good at what I do, and that is what we need right now.” When she didn’t challenge him, he continued. “Majore won’t care if their women or pigs, he’ll smash them either way; but I have plan for him. I just need one more thing from you.”
• “You’re asking for a lot, these women have given up all hope.”
• “Then give it back to them. Make them love you, and they will follow you right into your grave. Which I may add is just around the corner, if you keep interrupting me.”
• “Tuh! Child.”
• “Hag.”
• “Well then, what is it? Out with it then, what could you possibly need from this old Hag, just inches from a feeble bed-side death?” She was playing angry, but the corners of her mouth were slightly raised; her eyes were on fire. Jun couldn’t help but smile, Nor Makus already knew what he needed.
• After all, she had been saying it since he was old enough to notice it himself.
• “I need Sana Lanson.”
• “Fuck the Sheeswae, it’s the servants I am worried about! Word is Juris Jhopan lost mill production by half, just these last three days! Your embargo on grain has gerried most of the production around town, you know that? Without grain, the mills are shutting down; it costs too much to run them, and there’s no reason to do so. So servants are showing up to work, not working, not getting fed, and not getting paid. Tell me Arinold, how is that not a problem?!” The man who sat in Jun’s chair was anything but happy, despite the thick stench of Ghielrout.
• “Why should I be concerned of Juris?! Everyone knows he is completely incapable of maintaining a healthy operating business, and because of his incompetence he will pay. No, listen to me Whyburr, what you are telling me is that I need to initiate trade with a buffoon too foolish enough to seek alternative means of income when it was quite common knowledge that the Harvest was nil this year. You are asking me to lend him grain, which has bounded in value, just so he can continue to throw it down the throats of his servants and customers at an insanely expounded price. And what will he do once he makes his profit? Repay me? Bah, he’ll through it in his coffers and sit on it; saving it for a day when he really needs to spend it.
• “That day is now. For many of us.” The Duke lifted the hose to his lips and inhaled the smoke from the Obelisk. The man across from his crossed his arms, fuming impatiently. A noble of athletic build was rare, but Whyburr Steevs was even more uncommon. He was said to be an excellent swordsman, well versed in the training of physical combat; despite the complete lack of need for it. He was not much older than Jun, though his eyes had bags that would put Deon to shame. Thus he was a user, of drink and drug no doubt. Yet he was a handsome man, if not for his ridiculous cut of hair. The length of his dark-brown was long enough to cover his eyes, but the side of his head was shaved bare to the scalp. He wore it to the side, giving the illusion he was trying to hide half his face. Perhaps he had a scar? Jun wondered, but not very hard.
• He couldn’t give a shit.
• “His family has owned those mills for generations, how can you possibly expect him to neglect them and start a new industry? He would completely flounder, he doesn’t have the flexibility of youth anymore. He’d never be able to adapt to the changes of the new market.”
• “Exactly my point, my dear boy.”
• Whyburr seemed surprised, but not altogether upset. “You want him to go belly-up?”
• “Oh course! He’s an old fool, and contributes very little to the well being of our City. He uses far too much grain, and yields far too little product of far too exaggerated quality to be considered one of Solstice’s Finest. So yes, I hope he goes belly up. It’ll alleviate some valuable mills, and hard working servants that I could add to my every expanding work force.” Arinold smiled amiably, and put the hose to his lips. The bubbling of the Obelisk filled the silence.
• “Your Sol-fruit exchange is lucrative then? I was under the impression that you were having just as much trouble as the rest of us.” The Noble fingered the pommel of his sword, shaped to the likeness of a hawk’s head and neck. The elaborate blade was wickedly curved; another characteristic that was unusual to Nobles’ blades. Jun knew it meant the blade wasn’t just for show, Whyburr Steevs was a dangerous man. Arinold didn’t seem to think so.
• “Well most of you don’t have a workforce that operates for free.”
• “Slaves?”
• “Harvesters. Come now, you were here for my initiation ceremony; don’t play stupid.”
• “They are slaves, and everyone in Solstice-Upper is calling them such.” This seemed to poke Arinold in just the right spot. He coughed but maintained his posture, a white glove raising to his lips. Whyburr Steevs examined his fingernails with nonchalance and shrugged. “They call you Taskmaster Arinold.” When the Duke removed his glove, Jun noticed the spots of red. The Noble did not.
• Blood. The Duke had done an exponential amount of coughing it recently.
• Lacing the Ghielrout with a finely-ground, glass-power had something to do with it.
• Courtesy of Majore Jeleps, of course; thought the Duke was not aware of this. Only Majore and Jun and one of Majore’s insiders knew. What Arinold did note was how miserably he had been feeling as of recent; and because of it he had grown erratic. Making rash decisions without considerably thought. For what he knew, he was dying.
• Jun almost pitied the man, but in the end it was what needed to be done. It was just too messy of an end for him to enjoy. Majore however seemed to get incredible joy out of slowly murdering a man. The result was a strenuous explosion of reading and writing practices, multiple elaborate lectures on the responsibilities of a Duke, and the endless reminiscing memories of a dying old man. The headache that ensued made completing the work difficult, which made the Duke more frantic, and ultimately lead to a stricter curriculum. Needless to say, Jun couldn’t keep up.
• All he could clearly discern from the lectures was fear.
• The Duke was dying, and he was searching for someone to carry on his legacy. Jun wasn’t that person but if Arinold wanted to give him the resources, he wouldn’t turn them down. With the Nientia Ball approaching, time was running out; and everyone knew it. The Winter would come soon; bringing desolation and repose. Without Autumn-grass people were going to starve. Surely Arinold understood this; so why was he being so cold?
• “There are worse things to be called.” Whyburr turned to Jun for the first time and made pointed eye-contact.  “But let’s not speak where haunted ears hear. Ward Alwice, I take it? Back from your latest errand? Tell me, how is your grammar coming?” The snide remark did little to sour Jun’s mood.
• “Very well, actually. I’ve learnt a slew of four-letter words, perhaps you’ll let me show you.” The man chuckled, Arinold stood abruptly; thick white cloak flapping.
• “Enough! Is that any way to treat a guest?” Jun bowed his head in apology, but Whyburr just smiled dumbly. “Whyburr Steevs is a good friend of mine, and was once a prospective Ward.”
• “The Hawk is too proud a creature to fly like a swan.” The two had a brief laugh, Jun felt sick. The flamboyance of it all made him sick; the Ghielrout only made it worse. “He offered me the role, but my father declined; at that time our house was in much more promising financial standings…”
• “Ah, but that glory is being restored under your leadership. In another dozen years, you’ll be one of Solstice’s finest again.” Whyburr didn’t seem to like being reminded of that fact, and bristled like a dog. Arinold, in his altered state, didn’t seem to notice in the least bit. “Give it time, the House Steevs shall rise again. You’re already quite the talk around town.”
• “Yes, and in many places I would prefer not to be.” Whyburr complained.
• “A man could have worse problems.” Jun offered.
• “Truer words have never been spoken.” The Duke lifted his hose in toast and then placed it to his lips. The Obelisk bubbled noisily, and for a moment it was the only sound that filled the Conservatory. Dark clouds were brewing overhead, so the normally verdant garden had a cold dreary feel to it. Jun had learnt a literary term to describe and event like this, but had since forgotten it.
• “So, as I understand it, I am to train you in the ways of the duel.” The words were spoken like a giddy child, and the man was quick to hide behind his hose; inhaling the smoke from the chard-roasted chamber. Jun glanced to Arinold, who was deftly blowing rings of smoke.
• “Oh?”
• “That’s right. I have asked Lord Steevs to educate you in the field of the duel, and he has been kind enough to accept.” The Duke gave Whyburr a knowing glance, and a smile snuck across his lips. “I was referring to the history, and importance of protecting one’s honor from one’s misplaced effrontery, but—”
• “But I believe in a more practical approach!” The man gave Jun a hungry look, the smell of Ghielrout made his head spin. The thought of glass cutting into their lungs as they breathed in their own deaths made him grimace. Steevs misinterpreted the gesture. “Fear not, I won’t kill you. It’s just important that you understand the basics of sword-play if you are to become included in the Solstice-Upper.”
• “Absolutely, and while your training as Prime Justice may have left you with combat experience, it is time you learnt the art of the duel.” The two men looked at each other, exuding pride; as if bestowing a gift upon Jun. He didn’t know how to properly react, since excitement could be viewed as a sign of naivety. But battle training was just what he needed. He certainly wasn’t skilled with a blade, and having a sword seemed to satisfy his masculine urges. When he considered it, he was genuinely excited about the lessons, even if it meant spending time with the unbearable Whyburr Steevs. So Jun remained quiet with his head slightly bowed, waiting for more.
• “Now, that wasn’t so difficult.”
• “You can see the changes already?” The Duke replied.
• “Indeed.” Changes? Jun looked at them and noticed how they seemed to be viewing him from afar, appraising him like some stretch of land. “Quite remarkable, Arinold. Though, you may have outdone yourself. People may not even recognize him anymore.”
• “Don’t you worry. Hallen has been my biggest project since trying to procure you as my Ward. No offense, but it’s quite clear that this endeavor has proven more fruitful. He’s still slow in particular areas of study, but the boy is a natural sponge.” Jun had no idea what a sponge was, but he hated being highly spoken of; especially in earshot, and particularly by people he didn’t much care for. “He excels in social etiquette, though his temper is somewhat troublesome.”
• “Have you tried Troubrout? That would curve those tendencies.”
• “Never. It dulls the instincts.”
• “That may not be a bad thing, in this situation.”
• “No. I want Hallen to be a creation of Civility, not drug.” The Duke raised the hose to his lips and puffed, Whyburr studied Jun closely. The silence was uncomfortable, but Jun sat quietly; pretending the words didn’t register to him. If they believed him docile, he could use that to his advantage. Only a fool wanted others to believe him wise. Jun could get used to being underestimated.
• “So what do you think of all this? What’s your opinion?” Whyburr was being an ass, no doubt. It was rude to ask someone to share their opinion on a matter of which they had no control. It forced the person to lie, which was rude. Or it forced the person to be rude in truth, but Arinold did not reprimand Whyburr. Jun wasn’t worried, he had mastered this test long ago.
• “I am glad to see such effort has gone into the consideration of my future.” The perfect response for a Ward. Humble, yet simple. Whyburr seemed disappointed.
• “Well. Let’s hope you duel better than you lie.”
• “Sorry to interrupt, but there was a matter of importance I needed to discuss.” The Duke placed down the hose in response and seemed to try and shake his intoxication. Jun realized he misinterpreted the gesture when the arm compartment of the chair popped open to reveal the dibbits encase below.
• “Yes, yes, yes. Of course, do tell. Dibbit, Whyburr?” Jun waited for the Noble to respond, the long stream of smoke coming from his pursed lips looked like the trails of steam from the Industrial district. The man, continuing to exhale smoke, offered his hand and the Duke placed two small white cubes in the center. “Out with it, Hal.”
• “Perhaps this matter would better be discussed—”
• “Just tell me, Dammit. When I tell you to do something, do it! Now out with it!”
• Jun was taken aback. Even Whyburr’s eyes were a little wide, but Jun knew better than to openly question someone’s authority. A criminal offense for a Ward. He swallowed his pride and cleared his throat.
• “Still no word from the traders, and the escort you hired to shadow them have also turned up missing.” Jun paused, uncertain how to continue. “The cause of their disappearance is unknown, but the Scigfried patrol found Night-stalks picking at the remains. From what I’ve managed to gather…the scene was…graphic.” The tone of the meeting had shifted slightly; above, rain started to patter on the glass canopy. “Every man, trader and soldier both, were accounted for. Yet… many couldn’t be specifically identified. The Scigfried patrol has bolstered defenses at the Knife, and again just south of the Widows. They are also investigating the cause of death; most importantly, they are investigating who may have bribed the guards to leave their post.”
• “You, I take it?” Whyburr incurred.
• “Mmm.” Duke responded, hose hanging from his pale lips. “That could have gone better.”
• “Indeed.” It was Jun’s turn to be sarcastic. “Two dozen in all, dead.”
• “From what?” Whyburr was suddenly interested; Jun didn’t trust his enthusiasm.
• “What indeed…” Arinold took another dibbit. “I wouldn’t have thought the Woodsmen would have made it so far south. And they must be in great numbers to kill two dozen soldiers; traders even. Does this sound like something they could be capable of?” The question was so plain. It caught Jun off guard, should he answer honestly? How could Hallen Alwice know this? For a moment he didn’t know how to respond.
• “I’m…not sure. It seems odd to me. The Woodsmen are fierce, ruthless…but they are only human.” Jun paused, he felt like Nor Makus; telling a story to wide-eyed children. Only children didn’t believe the tales, these two were eating his words eagerly. Then again, they were true. “From what I hear, it sounds more like they were attacked by a pack of animals. Ripped limb from limb, devoured, left for scavengers.”
• “Nonsense. What animal, even in a pack, could possibly kill a phalanx of Scigfried soldiers?” Whyburr was skeptical, but there was concern in his voice. “Besides, there would be bodies. Of animals I mean. Where there any?”
• That was the odd part. “No.”
• “So it had to be the Woodsmen.” The Duke mused.
• “Not necessarily.” Jun paused, unsure if he should continue. Whyburr watched eagerly, his sunken eyes hungry for secret information.
• “You have another explanation?” Jun glanced at the Duke, and in that moment he seemed so pale; as if his life was visibly draining from his flesh. It was then that Jun saw just how old the man really was. Jun was walking on the edge of a blade; and the risk of getting cut was growing more each day.
• “Two. But you’re not going to like them.”
• Arinold sat back, wiped his long fingers down his angular face and sighed. Whyburr was too high to notice, too intent on the story of violence. Jun imagine Whyburr Steevs was still very much a child in many ways. Dedicating one’s life to sword-play and never haven’t opportunity to duel must have that affect on people, Jun wouldn’t know. He’s only fought for a cause, death was no sport; and for that Jun despised this man.
• “What are your theories, Hal?” The name threw him off, but only because it didn’t seem strange at all. Wasn’t he doing what Hal did best? Searching for the truth among death, avoiding the obvious conclusions? Delivering bad news. Hal was always good with that, a skill that Jun never had. The look on his face, the intensity of his eyes, the genuine tone of his voice. Jun hated him for it, the way Hal could get under your skin; make you break apart.
• And suddenly he wasn’t talking to Arinold and Steevs anymore.
• Instead two seemingly unrecognizable faces stared back at him, two people he didn’t know. Two people he was sure he had never met. Yet their names came to his lips, their memories forming bridges into his mind. He stood above them, looked down at their pathetic quivering forms collapsed to the ground. They were holding each other weeping bitterly. Jun didn’t know their pain, he couldn’t understand their loss, yet somehow it affected him. These people were a part of his past, and he couldn’t even recall their faces.
• We found her body down-stream. I’m so sorry.
• I don’t know these people. I don’t.
• “Out with it! Are you going to make me tell you again?” Arinold was angry now, uncharacteristic frustration plaguing his voice. The world came back in a rush, and the vision evaporated into Ghielrout smoke. The two people were gone, but their pain was a faint memory. He shook the sensation, afraid of what it may mean should he dwell on it.
• “Majore Jeleps. If anyone wants to keep you from gathering Autumn grass, it would—”
• “No. This isn’t his doing. Can’t be, it’s too messy. Besides, there’s no way his henchmen could possibly kill that many soldiers and leave the scene clean.” Jun remembered the way his arms felt after being bashed by Mr. Club; the pain was still a faint ghost in his mind. Yet even still, Arinold had a point. Mr. Club wouldn’t be a match for a phalanx of armored Scigfried warriors, and two dozen men were just too many for anyone to handle. “He would have to have a small armed force in order to pull something like that off, and even then traces would have been seen.” Arinold knew better, Jun was surprised he didn’t take the easy solution just because it was convenient.
• “So then what could it have been?” Whyburr was completely lost, but his curiosity was too powerful to contain. “Who killed those men?”
• Jun swallowed.
• “Rentis-Brood.”
• The silence was palpable.
• Then shattered by the raucous laughing of two intoxicated men. Jun didn’t even smirk.
• “That’s so cute! Where did you find this one! Rentis, mighty Creator, save us!”
• “Hallen, I want you to apologize to Whyburr, you half-killed him with that last jest of yours.” The laughing that followed carried on for an uncomfortable time, but Jun remained silent. Ghielrout had a way of making things funnier than they were, even things as gruesome as massacre. When the laughing subsided, only the rain above could be heard. The two men looked at Jun, as if expecting something; when nothing came, Whyburr scoffed audibly.
• “Are you a child? Rentis? Please, assure me you are joking.”
• Jun didn’t budge.
• “Hal, Rentis-Brood do not exist. It is simple fact, proven by decades of document by multiple scholars. The inverted world of Rentis-Sphere is a fallacy, even the existence of Chalton Rentis is questionable at best.” Arinold was trying to be polite, but the Ghielrout was making the task difficult. “You’re from an uncivilized town, so it may be difficult for you to believe; but I can assure you. Rentis-Brood are nothing more than child’s play.”
• “Tell you something though, I think you found the perfect mask for the Nientia Ball.”
• And with that, the entire conversation about the two dozen massacred men was swept away. The two men talked about fashion ideas, color schemes, designs, fabrics, styles of dress, and other ridiculously frivolous topics. Jun stood for a long time, until he was certain the others were too intoxicated to note his absence.
• Of course Rentis-Brood didn’t exist.
• But Arinold and Whyburr didn’t need to know he knew that.
• He left the conservatory and traveled the largely empty corridors. Every now and then he would see staff, and made a point to ignore them. Only stopping if he recognized one as a Harvester.
• He made a point to reach out to the Harvesters, and to shun the others.
• From what Majore told him, it was creating tension. He even warned against it.
• But Jun didn’t know who he could trust anymore.
• Soon he wouldn’t be sure if he could even trust the Harvesters.
• And that would be the end.