Lerykaz: Visit
Lerykaz visited four armorers before he even bothered to pick up a sword. This one spoke to him: a thin, gently curved blade set into a short hilt with a porfum pommel at the grip’s base and a slight Mini improvement. Light and well balanced, he could slice through the air in an easy overhand swing, reverse his grip, cut back through the same spot, and return to stance in a matter of seconds. The cutting edge was a glinting line hissing through the air. It was the perfect blade for someone who needed speed.
It had a price to match. Porfum wasn’t easy to find on Xydak, and that alone doubled the cost. Just a short time before he couldn’t have justified walking to Cynmed and looking through the window at a 10,000 yil sword.
That had changed when he looked in vortex 21: Astronomy Observations. True enough, he’d found a bundle or two of papers with his father’s notes on stars, planets, and so forth. But then the first bag of yils came out, and then another, and another, and before long he had more than 75,000 yils sitting on his floor.
He was afraid to know how much more was socked away in there—let alone where it all came from.
“Are you going to buy it or conduct with it?”
Lerykaz frowned at his brother. Glancing at the armorer, he could tell the older Outcast wasn’t amused either.
Zakyrel was leaning on the counter, favoring his leg and tapping the glass over a variety of knives. His mouth was turned up in his customary smirk.
“Don’t look so sour,” he said to the armorer. “He’s just window shopping, like it’s a holiday. He’d have to trade me and half the village in to afford that. You’re the fourth one whose day he’s wasted so—”
“I’ll take it.”
Zakyrel’s mouth snapped shut, teeth clicking together. He watched his brother carefully hand the sword over to the armorer, both bowing over the blade as the armorer put his work of art in an embossed leather sheath. Zakyrel’s eyes shot open as a pouch of yils emerged from his brother’s vortex and gems totaling 10,000 clattered against the glass counter.
His brother even tipped the armorer 50 yils—for excellent service, he said.
The shock was great enough that he didn’t say anything to Lerykaz until they were halfway down the street. Both nodded in respect to the Dragonslayer patrol gliding through the street traffic, and then Zakyrel leaned in.
“Where did that come from?”
Lerykaz was glad his brother had the good sense to keep his voice down.
“From one of dad’s vortexes. I found them a while ago.”
“How much?”
Cynmed’s main street went dark as time Rived. Leryakz could give the figure he’d found so far: 75,000. Zakyrel would curse, take him by the front of his shirt, and start shouting.
Or he could give a vague answer, keep his bother calm—calmer—and not get any unwanted attention.
“A lot,” Lerykaz said, waving his hand vaguely. “I didn’t bother to count more than I needed today.”
“Which is?”
“About 30,000.”
Zakyrel went silent, walking in step with his older, though shorter, brother. The limp wasn’t showing up in his step anymore, as he’d predicted when he invited himself along on the trip. A heavy, muscled arm wrapped around Lerykaz’ shoulder, pulling him in tight.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The words hissed into Lerykaz’ ear.
“If we make a lot of noise about it, somebody is going to come back for the yils and our heads,” he said.
Zakyrel nodded slowly, one hand rubbing at a rib that had shattered in the fight. “Good thinking.”
After finding a suitable set of titanium armor and some Supple leather boots, Lerykaz had nearly exhausted his current yil supply. There was enough to afford a meal on the way home and not much more. With freshly polished armor on his chest, and sword swinging at his hip, he left militaristic Cynmed. Zakyrel followed quietly.
It was the silence that bothered Lerykaz now. Although it usually didn’t lead to an explosion of temper, Zakyrel going quiet meant he was thinking. Lerykaz wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever might be brewing in his brother’s mind.
They were well into the forest by the time Zakyrel spoke.
“You’re going to leave, aren’t you?”
The question didn’t shock Lerykaz, but the quiet, resigned tone certainly did. He hadn’t heard that since they were young.
Zakyrel picked up on his surprise.
“I’m not stupid, brother. You could get a good sword in Xylar’s Den. You don’t come out here unless you’re going to war. I didn’t think you were serious.”
Zakyrel shrugged, his necklaces rippling across his chest. He tossed his head as he brushed past Lerykaz, urging him to catch up.
Lerykaz followed. He’d hoped to avoid this. Slipping out in the middle of the night or going on an errand and not coming back were easier ways of handling this. Leaving to go chase after ancient relics and beings that don’t exist anymore was something he hadn’t fully explained to himself, yet. Making sense of the impulse to Zakyrel would be impossible.
“What else did you find in those vortexes? It couldn’t just be money.”
Has he always been this sharp and I just hadn’t noticed?
“What?”
“If you pulled yils out of a vortex, there had to be something in the others. Or are they all filled with money?”
Time Rived, the forest dimmed and the rustles, chirps, and squawks in the background went silent. Only a few puddles of Orblight fell across the ground as Lerykaz groped for a response.
In one he could tell Zakyrel the truth about the research he found. His brother just shook his head and kept walking.
In the other he told Zakyrel they were filled with junk, old electronics, broken pieces of swords and armor, molded books, and printed pictures—the rejects from their father’s antique collection. His brother called him a liar, shook his head, and kept walking.
“It’s what dad was working on,” Lerykaz said. He spoke quietly in case anything was hiding out in the underbrush. He was looking for something, or, well, some things. He made notes about relics that could lead him to how the system was made. I think.”
Zakyrel did indeed shake his head and keep walking, but he wasn’t angry. Instead of shooting back with a cutting remark or his lip curling up in disgust, he sighed.
“Why go through it? Does it matter anymore?”
“Dad thought he was on to something important. He—”
“You did too when you killed him.”
Lerykaz flinched. His brother hadn’t put any malice into his voice—he didn’t need to. It was a fact.
“I did, but he was looking at how the planets work, how Ocost works. It-it doesn’t make sense unless you’ve seen what he’s compiled. Xydak, for instance. We just have warm weather all the time. All year. Dad wrote about these things called seasons: weather is supposed to change as a planet goes around the Orb. The orbit—we should have winter. It should be cold sometimes. We should have snow here too. It doesn’t make any sense why we don’t. We ought to—,” Lerykaz broke off, hanging his head. “This probably doesn’t make any sense. He was writing about all of that, about the Races of Old. He wanted to find them, or at least whatever is left.”
“Did he deserve to die?”
Lerykaz was blindsided. “Huh?”
Zakyrel stopped in the middle of the trail, crossing his arms. He repeated, evenly, “Did dad deserve to die?”
“I-I don’t—”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know.”
That was the question Lerykaz had been asking himself after he woke up on his bedroom floor surrounded by an exhaustive library of Xydak and its history. The other vortexes had much the same material, all of it scholarly in some respect; his father’s writing, opinions, and theories, where an old relic could be—what a relic was for—and it all seemed like exactly the sort of thing a man with a penchant for living in a tall, narrow tower overlooking an empty field would do. His father was powerful and obsessive, yes, but dangerous?
“I think it depends on what you call dangerous,” Lerykaz said, lining up thoughts along with the words. “He thought he was going after knowledge, I think, but maybe he didn’t realize what he was doing or what he was looking for. Somebody could think it was dangerous. Or knew it was.”
Zakyrel didn’t hesitate. “So who was it?”
“Don’t ask me that.”
“But—”
“You won’t get an answer.”
His brother huffed, and Lerykaz tried to soften his tone.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Sure,” Zakyrel said, taking another few steps. He winced, and went for the small bottle dangling off his belt. He knocked back the small amount of potion in it.
“I knew you weren’t healed. We can stop for a while if you want.”
Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, Zakyrel glared at his brother.
“Don’t change the subject.”
Zakyrel carefully kept his leg straight as he levered himself down to the ground, sitting up against a tree. Lerykaz sat next to him, looking out into the forest and admiring the thin, bright rays of Orblight cutting through the leaves overhead. When was the last time they’d simply sat around and enjoyed each other’s company? Lerykaz couldn’t remember.
After a while his brother spoke again as he massaged his left leg. The slashes and scars were long gone, but his bones still remembered the sword’s bite. Those memories stayed fresh for ages.
“What about the Slaughterer? He had something to do with dad. I know that. He had this crest thing that had our hex colors in it—mom’s too. Only dad would know about all three.”
For the second time today Lerykaz could only stare at his brother. Zakyrel met his gaze, red eyes calm, golden hair shining in the light, as he waited for an answer.
“Did the hospital shove more brains in your head while you were there?”
The punch to his arm was playful, but it nearly knocked Lerykaz over on the ground.
“I had plenty of time to think there. I couldn’t do anything—”
“Or anyone.”
“You are an ass.”
“You love her and you know it,” Lerykaz teased.
“Yeah, I do. But—and don’t say anything to her yet—but that guy knew us. Knew dad. What was he? A bodyguard?”
“Probably, though he wasn’t at the tower when I…,” Lerykaz trailed off, shaking his head.
He was glad when his brother didn’t say anything.
“I haven’t found anything in a vortex, yet. He must’ve been a guard or something. Maybe an assistant for the heavy lifting, or killing even. Dad got a hold of some rare things, and a lot of yils.”
“Heck of an assistant,” Zakyrel said, disgust dripping over the last word. “Nearly killed me, you, took out most of the clashers, and half the lawmen. He’s the dangerous one.”
“That he is.”
“Should you have killed him?”
Thoughts churning in the depths of Lerykaz’ mind bubbled to the surface. Ever since the fight at the arena he’d been wrestling with the same question.
“I think so.”
“Then why did you kill dad?”
Lerykaz’ next breath caught in his throat, and the bottom fell out of his stomach.
No! Not now. I can’t go there.
Time rewound and Lerykaz frantically sought for a way to divert his brother.
“Heck of an assistant,” Zakyrel said, disgust dripping over the last word. “Nearly killed me, you, took out most of the clashers, and half the lawmen. He’s the dangerous one.”
“That he is—but I don’t think he was my target. He’s strong, good with a sword, sure, but how smart can something that brutal be?”
The words spilled out of Lerykaz’ mouth like water from a broken spigot: suddenly, forcefully, and all too messily.
Zakyrel slammed his fist in the earth. There was a soft thud as his knuckles sunk into the soil.
“I hate it when you do that,” he shouted. “It’s like you can read my mind and it—it’s unfair.”
Leaning away, Lerykaz took the innocent route. “When I do what?”
“Don’t lie to me. Reflecting. You knew what I was going to say.” Zakyrel jabbed a finger in his brother’s chest. “It’s cheating, and a hell of a way to treat your brother.”
“And you wouldn’t do it if you could?”
“Not to you. Not to family. That’s what you don’t get. The rest of the world can burn for all I care, but you take care of family. You, Karyzel, yeah, even Elyria; you’re family.”
Zakyrel’s voice fell and he set a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He spoke slowly, struggling to get the words he wanted to say out of his mouth.
“I don’t know what happened with dad, and you sure don’t either, but he’s dead and there’s nothing we can do about that. Don’t interrupt. Please. I—I don’t know what he was doing or what he was going to do. It doesn’t matter anymore. But you can’t leave. You can’t chase whatever he found, or thought he found, when some guy is out there trying to kill us. You need to stay here where it’s safe, where we can fight him.
“And I need you around. You’re my brother.”
Lerykaz looked away, preferring to stare at his hands as they knotted in his lap. The weight on his shoulder was warm and reassuring. It could have been an anchor to keep him home, keep him from wandering from planet to planet in Ocost, and keep him in Karyzel’s life. In his core, though, he knew that couldn’t happen. As tempting as it was, as guilty as he felt about walking away from it all, he knew he had to leave.
“I can’t. I wish I could but,” Lerykaz said, groping for the words. His brother’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “There’s something going on out there and I need to find it. Dad died for it and the Slaughterer killed for it.”
He looked at Zakyrel and clasped his brother’s shoulder in turn.
“Somebody used me. I need to know why. Dad was searching for something. I need to find it. And waiting here for that thing to come back isn’t going to keep us safe. If he’s hunting us, I can hunt him too.”
Silence hung between the brothers for a long moment.
Zakyrel was the first to break it.
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too.”
It was an awkward hug, sitting there on the side of the road, but it was the first they’d shared in ages. Both remembered it for the rest of their lives.
Lerykaz stood, offering a hand to his younger brother, who used it to pull himself upright. The potion had done its work and the pain was gone. Walking in step with each other the two continued their journey in peace, hardly saying a word on the way back to Xylar’s Den. Although they would soon go their separate ways, fight their own battles, and survive their own adventures, both Lerykaz and Zakyrel knew they would never be apart again.