Chapter 2: 2: The Mediator

Vayra slipped between the rear of a carriage and a charging horse, then skidded to a halt. A wagon overflowing with apples thundered past. It gave her time to glance over her shoulder. Bremi halted just beside her. 

The Helper pointed his pistol again. A puff of smoke leapt from its barrel, and the lantern hanging off the rear of a carriage exploded into shards of glass and tendrils of flame. The glass pattered off her tunic and the flames scorched it. She flinched away, even though the molten wax barely felt warm on her cheek—perhaps it would have hurt a full-blooded human more. 

They had to lose the Helper. As soon as the apple wagon passed, she dashed ahead, ducking under a beam of wood carried by two mud-smeared workers, then spun around a bewildered peddler. The sidewalk was just ahead.

Her foot latched on a loose brick, and she tumbled to the ground. An elven rider without a wagon approached, and he pulled on his horse’s reins. Vayra scrambled out of its way. She raced through a stagnant water of a puddle and scrambled away until she felt the smaller paving stones of the sidewalk beneath her fingers. A pedestrian walked past without concern, and the woman’s boot smashed into the back of Vayra’s head.

Hauling herself to her feet, Vayra stared back at the window she’d come from. The Helper was nowhere to be seen, but Bremi stood at her side. He smirked. “You got shit in your hair, sis.”

“Not now.” Vayra’s head whipped back and forth, searching for the best escape. Her vision was foggy, and everything seemed to smear together. 

Bremi continued, “It ain’t a good look—”

“Hey! You two!” 

Vayra’s attention snapped further down the street. Despite her clouded vision, she spotted a pair of scarlet smears. She rubbed her eyes until she could add brown (their peaked caps and muskets) and blue (their pauldrons) to the list. They didn’t point their weapons yet. One of the men stepped forwards and demanded, “What are you up to?”

Typical Redmarines. In their attempts at policing, they only looked inches before their noses. The real threat was across the street. But they were persistent, well-trained, and more annoying than Gréno or the Helpers. 

The second marine brought his musket to full-cock, but the other raised an arm and said, “They’re just—”

“Run!” Vayra shouted.

She and Bremi sprinted down the sidewalk, towards the taller buildings of the inner city, and back towards Tavelle’s Gorge. Lanterns whirled past her face like sparks. She wove between pedestrians and through processions of farmhands entering the city for an evening in one of the taverns. The Redmarines didn’t relent; they passed through the crowd only feet out of reach, twisting and turning to pass civilians. 

Vayra pushed an emaciated man aside, then gripped onto the corner of a building to swing herself into an alley. She didn’t slow down in time, and her shoulder rammed into the wall of the opposite side. Her feet struggled to find traction again on the paving stones, but once they did, she took off into the street on the other side of the alley. Bremi emerged just behind her, trailed by the two Redmarines. 

“Vayra!” Bremi yelled. “What’s the plan?”

She ducked under an immobile cart, then pulled a wedge out from its side panel—hay bales tumbled out, blocking the marines’ way for a moment. “We just need to get to Meynan’s Street, then back to the Gorge! Old Uckoe will—”

Breath fled from her lungs faster than water from oil. She tumbled. Then, something pinned her to the ground. A fist collided with her nose, and an elbow pressed against her throat. The Helper’s mask stared her in the eyes, but quickly, her vision began to darken. Everything grew dimmer, and no matter how hard she thrashed, the Helper was too strong.

The pressure lifted off her neck, and blood flowed back into her head. She rolled onto her side, gasping for breath. Bremi clung to the Helper’s coat. The man pulled his arms from sleeves, and as Bremi stumbled, he swung his pistol as a club. Bremi fell limp into the street. The boy’s head struck the ground, and the hollow thud elicited a gasp from Vayra. She snapped a hand towards her brother’s ankle, and she tugged on it as hard as she could—a carriage approached, and the driver wasn’t slowing. 

Her ribcage blazed; the Helper’s boot struck her. She kept pulling on Bremi’s ankle. She heard the carriage’s approaching rumble through the rush in her ears. Another blow landed, harder and sharper, but she didn’t release Bremi’s cuff. She tugged again. Bremi’s body shifted towards the sidewalk, just barely enough to keep him out of harm’s way. 

The Helper’s third kick forced the last dregs of air from her lungs; she couldn’t even gasp. 

“Stop!” a Redmarine shouted. He pointed his musket at the Helper. 

The other marine approached just behind, hay embedded in his lapels. “Drop the—”

Another puff of smoke spat from the Helper’s pistol. The blast stung Vayra’s eardrums and set windchimes loose in her head. One of the marines collapsed. The other fired his musket, but the Helper had already leapt aside. 

Vayra scrambled behind a crate and pulled Bremi along with her. She watched his chest rise once, hesitantly, then deflate. She shook his shoulders. “Bremi, wake up! We need to run!” Her brother stirred and mumbled, but she couldn’t make out any coherent words. “Wake up!”

Metal clattered against metal, and she heard a thud. The surviving marine blocked the Helper’s rusty, handmade knife with the barrel of his musket. They scrapped, and Vayra wanted nothing more than to run away. But she couldn’t, not while carrying Bremi. She yelled, “Stand up, Bremi!”

Bremi lowered an arm and placed his hand against the paving stones. The stone cube tumbled out of his pocket and towards the gutter, but Vayra stuck her foot in front of it to stop it from bouncing into the puddles. It hit her boot. She felt an urge, tugging at her blood and guiding her hand. It wanted her to touch it.

The ringing in her ears disappeared. In its place, she heard a woman’s voice whisper, Pick me up. The voice had spoken in her head. Vayra knew it was—her ears weren’t hearing it, though her mind knew something spoke to her. The words raced around her skull and vibrated through her bones. She pressed a hand against her forehead, but the voice returned. Accept my—

There was a soft thud beside Vayra. The Helper skidded along the ground and came to a rest beside her. Instead of the voice, she heard the crowd’s screams crescendo. She looked up. The marine marched towards, fastening his bayonet to his musket as he walked. If anyone was caught participating in organized crime, the punishment was death. Most marines didn’t bother letting the accused reach their trial; they were always convicted. 

“Bremi!” You have to get up!” Vayra looked up at the Helper. Half of his mask was shattered and his nose bled red, human blood. He met her gaze, then scrambled towards her and Bremi. She tried to kick the Helper away, but he caught her foot and flipped her, then hauled Bremi to his feet. 

The Helper wrapped an arm around Bremi’s neck and pressed his knife to the boy’s throat. “Stay back!” First, he held Bremi between him and the marine, then he turned to the marine. “Both of you!”

“Don’t!” Vayra yelled. “You’ll—”

“I know what iron and rust does to your kind!” The Helper stepped away from the marine. “Drop the musket, or I’ll kill the boy!”

“Do it!” Vayra pleaded. She raised her arms and showed the Helper her open palms, but her eyes were drawn to the stone cube once more. It tried to assert its will on her, and she tried to resist it. But her fingers felt loose. Slowly, her pinky stretched towards the cube. 

I know what you are, Vayra. Again, she heard the cube’s voice. I know you are a Phoenix. I know you nurtured your brother’s egg for five years before he hatched. I know you would do anything for him. 

The marine didn’t lower his musket, nor turn the bayonet away from the Helper. He ordered, “Let the boy go!”

“If you don’t kill me here… it’ll be the gallows!” the Helper bellowed. He pressed the knife closer to Bremi’s neck. Bremi blinked, and muttered again. His head lolled forwards, then it sprung upright. He must have realized what was happening. 

“Please, sir!” Vayra added. 

The marine didn’t yield. He raised his shoulders and pointed the bayonet. “Quiet!”

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If you want to save him, listen to me! This time, the cube’s voice seemed to beg Vayra. Touch the Seekerstone. 

And then what? Sudden movement would make everything worse.

It will cause a distraction, Vayra!

Great. It knew her thoughts, too.

I do. And I know what you need to do right now! Take it!

Vayra didn’t resist any longer. She leapt for the cube—the Seekerstone—and as she fell hard against the sidewalk, she pressed her hand down on top of the cube. The moment her skin connected with it, bright, colourless light overtook everything. She fell, but not to the ground. The uniform whiteness was a void, and she plummeted. If there was ground below she couldn’t see it. 

Vayra thought she screamed, and she knew she heard her own voice, but her mouth wasn’t open. There was no one else around to hear—not Bremi, the Helper, or the marine. 

“Be calm.” 

It was the same voice that she had heard in her head, only it seemed younger and less confident. Vayra tried to follow the voice’s instructions. Against her instinct, she held her arms and legs still. The falling sensation stopped. 

“Turn around.”

Vayra couldn’t feel anything firm beneath her feet, but when she tried to spin—as if she was standing on solid ground, she felt herself turn. The source of the voice emerged in her peripheral vision. Vayra breathed, “What… what’s—”

“You are safe,” the voice whispered. First, Vayra could pin it only on a shadow against the void. The shadow was vaguely human-shaped, and only an inch taller than Vayra.

“Where am—no, it doesn’t matter. Let me out of here!”

Colours bled into the shadow. First, it formed into two eyes so vibrant and brown they seemed to emit light. Then, an olive face and black hair. Vayra leapt away. 

The shadow said, “Here, a fraction of a second becomes minutes. You have—”

“Let me out!” Vayra yelled. She stared into the blank whiteness where Bremi and the Helper had stood moments before. 

“Then open your eyes.”

Vayra tilted her head. Open her eyes? But they already were!

“No, they’re not. You shut them when you touched the Seekerstone,” the voice said. Vayra resisted turning to face it. She remembered touching the stone cube, and reflexively snapping her eyes shut at the white light. She had never opened them. She concentrated on her muscles, and begged her eyelids apart—to be released from the vision. The shadow continued, “I understand… it’s confusing in here, but you must—”

Vayra’s eyelid snapped open, and suddenly, the white void disappeared. All that remained was a spectral glow and white sparks drifting across the streets of Tavelle—residue of a great flash outside the void. She leapt towards Bremi and the Helper, and pulled her brother free from the man’s now loose grasp. “Run!” 

“Vayra?” Bremi asked.

Vayra ducked under one of the Helper’s frazzled swipes and pushed Bremi down as well. Her brother gasped in pain. She tugged him out of the Redmarine’s way—the man charged with his bayonet, but only seemed intent on impaling the Helper. To Bremi, she shouted, “Can you run?” 

“Yes!”

Vayra pulled her blouse’s cuff down around her fingers and picked up the Seekerstone, careful not to let it touch her skin, then shoved it into her pocket. The Helper grunted. A spike of silver and red pierced through his greatcoat—the marine had impaled him. Next, he would chase after her!

Vayra pointed down the street; there was an alley she and Bremi could slip through. They sprinted along the sidewalk, pushing through the onlookers who sheltered at the edge of the street. Bremi was first into the alley. They both stopped halfway and ducked into an alcove—Vayra was certain her brother understood the plan. A lantern bumped against her shoulder. But they couldn’t hide in the bright light. She threw the lantern to the ground and Bremi stomped out the flames. 

They both held perfectly still. Vayra pressed her back against the wooden wall. A knot of wood pressed into the small of her back, and it began to sting.

The marine ran down the alley. His musket was cocked, and Vayra was certain he had prepared another shot. But he ran past, into the crowded street on the other side of the alley. He didn’t look back. 

Vayra and Bremi stayed silent. Slowly, the crowds on both sides of the alley calmed, but business as normal didn’t resume—from what Vayra could see, pedestrians walked cautiously and stared at the aftermath of the skirmish. A dead Redmarine and a Helper. The city would talk about it for weeks. 

She nudged Bremi out of the alcove. On the first step he took, he threw up, and when the light reached his eyes, she observed them carefully; his pupils didn’t dilate. “We’re gonna get back to the Gorge. Old Uckoe’ll know what to do.”

“Sis, it’s…” Bremi staggered along the alley and into the street. He turned his shoulder towards her, revealing a gash in his sleeve. Below it, his skin was torn and clear blood seeped from it. 

Vayra pressed her eyes shut. Then she offered a smile, and though it felt like a lie, laid a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “It’s fine. He didn’t get you bad. There’s, uh… probably no iron in it.”

They walked down the street. Vayra looked up to find her bearings. The Eternal Stream rose to the west, and now, the setting sun rippled through it. To the east, mountains climbed from the coast. If they headed due south, they would reach Tavelle’s Gorge—it cut through the center of the city, and was impossible to miss.  

Vayra made sure to walk slowly and to keep her head down. A procession of Redmarines marched down the center of the street, but Vayra made sure to keep hidden behind a layer of pedestrians. 

The sunlight dimmed and the sky darkened. Starry pinpricks appeared in the sky, and as they did, the Seekerstone grew heavier in her hand. It threatened to slip out from her sleeve, and she tightened her grip. She couldn’t ignore the sense—the instinct—that told her a third person was walking with them. When she looked behind her, she saw no one. “Bremi? Did this cube thing call to you?”

“Huh? I… uh… no. I just thought it might be interesting.” He rubbed his forehead, then his eyes. 

A huff escaped Vayra’s lips before she could resist it. Why her?  

She stared down at the cube, but didn’t dare to touch it again—not out in the open. But, as it had before, it didn’t need her to touch it to speak with her. It hissed, The Seekerstone called to you because you are the Mediator. You have been chosen, and now, you have awoken. The galaxy knows you have returned.

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