Chapter Six: Brewing Trouble
Avis
The sun dipped down below the western horizon, bidding adieu to the world and all its troubles until it made its entrance in the east tomorrow morning. With it went the brilliant golden light that had painted the sunset sky. As the heavens made their transition from sunset to twilight, the light in the west darkened from amber orange to a soft aurora of maroon and violet.
Avis watched the sunset from the top of one of the bell towers in the southern reaches of Ullek, the social and cultural epicenter of the Menaphite Desert. As the light in the west died, Avis finally looked away. The heat of the day was already beginning to fade.
That was one of the downsides of life in the desert; there were never any warm or moderate days. During the day the desert was ridiculously hot, and during the night it got ridiculously cold. At least, to a Menaphite it got ridiculously cold. Ridiculously cold for a Menaphite was probably the equivalent of a simple, common chilly morning for a Centralian.
Avis took a breath and shuddered as the nightly chill began to set in. He did not have a cloak; all he was wearing were his ragged black-cloth shorts. They had actually been full pants at one time, but Avis's under-the-radar activities throughout the city had not been kind to them; they stopped, now, just above his knees, ending in frayed strings.
Those shorts were all Avis had had the chance to steal, lately, anyway. Stealing clothing was a lot more difficult than stealing food. Food was easy to make and easy to replace, so the vendors who sold it naturally were not as hawkeyed on the lookout for thieves. Clothes, on the other hand, took time to create, and were much more expensive. Those who sold clothing, or the materials needed to produce clothing, often hired trained mercenaries or guards to watch their goods. Many a thief had been captured and lost a hand for taking on those goons.
Avis did not intend to count himself amongst them, so he was satisfied to keep his cloth rags, as well as both of his hands.
The pale-skinned ten-year-old slid down the domed roof of the bell tower and proceeded to descend back down to the rooftops. He dropped from beam to beam, swinging himself and lowering himself down the height of the tower until finally he dropped down to the white stone roof of the domicile below.
There were still a few people on the street below, but not many. This part of the city was not very populated, and most citizens would be turning in for the night around this time, anyway. Both of those factors combined and contributed to the street being nearly empty.
Avis moved along the rooftops for another few minutes, making his way down the street to his destination. That destination was a dusty old antique shop that no one ever visited. That was good, in a way, for the antique shop was just a front. The real operation was the group of young thieves who had made their abode in the shop's extensive basement.
Avis had once been a part of that group, but two years ago, when he had been eight years old, he partially left it, preferring to roam the streets on his own. The ten-year-old still visited his old friends frequently, but he no longer lived with them. He no longer lived anywhere; all of Ullek was now his home.
The ten-year-old hopped off of the roof and slid down the canopy that shaded the front door of the antique shop, landing on the cobblestones of the street with not so much as a light tap. Avis dusted himself off and walked into the antique shop.
Farrah was not behind the counter, so he must have closed up shop for the night. Farrah was the old man who tended to the antique shop, and who also allowed Avis's friends to use his basement. His store didn't get any business, so he had no income. The thieves were the ones who kept him fed, and he was the one who provided them with shelter. It was a symbiotic relationship.
Avis made his way through the tables and stands of exotic items and trinkets, circling around the back of the counter towards the rear of the place. Not remembering where the downstairs entrance was, he started tapping the floor lightly with his foot, tapping in different places around the back of the counter.
The tapping yielded no results until the ten-year-old lighted upon a section of floor in the backroom. When he tapped it with his foot, it gave a dull, echoing thump. It was hollow, judging by the sound.
Avis gave a satisfied nod, now remembering. It had been a while since he had last used it. The boy crouched down and pressed two knots in the wood with two of his fingers. The dark spots depressed, allowing the boy to curl his fingers around and attain a somewhat firm grip on the trapdoor. Avis used his fingers to pull the trapdoor up a fraction, and then slid his other hand through the resulting crack and lifted the door up the rest of the way.
A shaft extended down into the ground. A wavering light was visible at the bottom, and the sound of voices floated up to the surface. Avis smiled. He recognized those voices.
The boy shimmied down the entrance shaft, closing the trapdoor above him as he went. He dropped down to the floor and walked through the open door in the small room at the bottom.
The basement of Farrah's antiques shop had been extended and lengthened. It now had to stretch a good distance under the street; there was no way a space this large could have all been under a small, dusty old shop on the surface; it was simply too big.
Three long, rectangular tables sat in the main room. There were two other rooms that branched off from the two sides of the main one: one was a quasi-dormitory, really a room filled with blankets and sacks of grain that were suitable for sleeping on; the second was a kitchen.
There were over a dozen orphans who lived here, but only five were still in the main room. The others must have gone to bed. That meant Avis had missed dinner.
Jafa was sitting at one of the tables with three others; an older girl around his age, and two younger boys. They were playing some sort of dice game.
Farrah was sitting at another of the tables with the fifth orphan, applying salve and a bandage to a laceration on the child's arm.
"Evening, chaps," Avis announced as he strode into the room, pulling the burlap sack of bread that he had stolen from the Plaza off of his shoulder.
"Avis!" Jafa exclaimed, dropping the dice that he was holding, springing up from the table.
"Hey, big boy," the girl flashed Avis a smile. "Jafa said you'd be here for dinner. What kept you?"
"I was going to be," Avis murmured. "Nice to see you, too, Lessa."
"What took you so long? You were supposed to be here hours ago!" Jafa said as he pulled Avis into a firm embrace. The adolescent released the boy after a few seconds and, for the first time, noticed the bands of iron that were clamped around Avis's wrists. "What's with the new jewelry?"
"Irons," Avis explained, shaking the manacles that were still stubbornly locked around his wrists. Avis had broken the short chain that had connected them, so the manacles were little more than bracelets. Though he had broken the chain, though, he still had no way to remove the actual irons. For now, they were stuck. Heavy, irremovable bracelets. "I had a little run-in with our…mutual acquaintance, if you get my meaning."
"Jhabour…" Jafa whispered. "He's out and about, again? How's he doing?"
"Well first, it's Ai-Jhabour, now," Avis corrected his friend.
"He got promoted?" Jafa whispered. "Really?"
"Go figure," Avis grunted. "But he's doing fine…same old, same old…still wants to kill you next time he sees you."
Jafa looked hurt. "Why would he want to do that? As I recall, you were the one who shoved that torch into his face, not me."
"Guilty by association," Avis replied.
"Ain't that a bitch…"
"Yeah…but anyways, I was walking through the Plaza, on my way here," Avis said, sitting down at the table and beginning to tell his story to his peers, "and I decide to grab some bread for the trip. It's in that bag, by the way," the boy gestured to the burlap sack he had dropped on his way in. "So I lift the bread alright—it was probably one of the best lifts I've ever done. I'm talking smooth as satin; no alarms, no trouble from the vendor. Not even the bystanders noticed. You would have been proud. So anyway, I'm walking away, then Jhabour just swoops out of nowhere and grabs me…must have been trailing me, waiting for me to make a move…he claps me in these suckers," Avis shook his manacled wrists, "and hauls me off to a prison carriage."
"A prison carriage?" one of the younger boys—Dalib, his name was—asked, wide-eyed. "How'd you get outta one of those?"
"Oh, I didn't," Avis chuckled. "I never got into the carriage."
"How could you have-" Lessa started to ask, but then it occurred to her just what she would have done in a similar situation. She made a face. "Don't tell me you-"
"Yep," Avis nodded, grimacing as he remembered the wrenching feeling in his stomach as he had made himself throw up. "Retched all over Jhabour's sandals—that distracted him…you should have heard him scream," Avis's grimace morphed into a light grin at the memory. "So then I kick him, right in the gut…"
Jafa hooted with laughter. "Ah man…he must've been pissed. Must still be pissed…"
"Well I wouldn't know," Avis shrugged. "I broke the chain on the irons and hightailed it outta there before I could see the look on his face. Too bad, really…would've loved to have seen it…"
"Amen…" Lessa chuckled. Lessa had never personally had a run-in with Jhabour, but she had heard enough to get a fair idea of what kind of man the Qarat guard captain was. Avis and Jafa's stories of their encounters with the man said it all.
"How did you break the chain?"
"Huh?" Avis turned around to see Farrah standing behind him, an expression of mild interest on the old man's face.
Farrah was dressed in his usual cream-colored robe and maroon turban. The colors went well with his wrinkled, deep bronze skin. One of his teeth was capped with gold, and two more with silver. Laughter lines surrounded his eyes, which were a soft blue with a slight twinkle.
"Oh, hey, Farrah," Avis smiled at the old man who had pretty much raised him since infancy, seeking to change the subject away from the circumstances by which he had broken the chain. No one else knew about his Ability. "What happened to Asa's arm?" the ten-year-old asked, nodding towards the injured orphan who Farrah had just finished bandaging.
"He was sliced by a Qaratai after he was spotted stealing in the southeastern market," Farrah replied. "Poor child was nearly bled out by the time he made it back here…he went out alone, too. That is precisely why I encourage you all to work in pairs at the very least…" the old man's voice trailed off as he spoke. Farrah looked deep in thought for a second before he shrugged. "Bah," he snorted, "what do I know anyway? Things are different from when I was in the streets at your age…we always went in pairs. That way, when someone got hurt, there was always someone else to help him along…"
"Hey, I just got back," Jafa raised his hands in mock surrender. "Can't blame this one on me."
"I am not leveling blame on anyone," Farrah reassured the sixteen-year-old. "Just please try and stop the younger ones from going off on their own, will you? That is how we start losing people and getting them back one-handed."
"Yes, sir," Jafa nodded.
Everyone sat in silence for a full minute, content to relax in the flickering light produced by the candle lanterns mounted on the walls. Finally, Lessa let out a weary yawn and stood up from her chair. "I'm gonna go turn in," she said, walking off towards the dormitory room. "It's been a long day."
"Yeah, me too," Dalib got up and followed Lessa. The other two young boys did likewise, leaving Avis, Farrah, and Jafa alone in the room.
Farrah sat down at the table opposite Jafa and Avis. He and Jafa had been waiting for everyone else to leave. "Well…here we stand. Or sit," Farrah corrected himself. "It's been a while since the three of us have been together in the same room."
"Cause for celebration, says I," Jafa chuckled.
"Indeed…" Farrah murmured.
Avis's brow furrowed in a slight frown. Farrah seemed ill at ease as well. The ten-year-old remembered how tense Jafa had been acting in the Plaza earlier. Avis had not had the chance to speak to him about it at the time, but now it looked like he was about to get that chance.
"What's on your mind?" Avis asked the adolescent. "You look like someone's told you the world's gonna end tomorrow."
"Not too far off the truth, there…" Jafa muttered. The older boy took a breath and exchanged a quick glance with Farrah. When the old man gave him a nod, he continued. "I wasn't released from my work gang, you know," Jafa admitted. "I escaped."
"I thought you had done your time, anyway," Avis said. "Eight months."
Jafa snorted with disdain. "Yeah, that was my time, but they had no intention of actually letting me go for another year. But that's not important…" the black-haired adolescent shifted into a more comfortable position, drumming his fingers on the table nervously. "We were working in a mine up near the Shantay Pass when it happened."
"When what happened?" Avis started to ask, but Farrah held up a hand and quelled him before he had a chance to finish his whole question.
"We felt the ground rumble," Jafa recalled. "It was nothing at first…but it didn't stop. The rumbling grew stronger and stronger…finally, the overseers pulled me and the rest of the prisoners out of the mines in case of a cave-in. That surprised me; I wouldn't have thought that they would have cared one way or another what happened to us. So we're just standing around, waiting for whatever happens next to happen…then this Qaratai general, Duvai, I think his name was. He shows up at our camp and flashes the head overseer a roll of documents. Next thing I know, we—me and the other laborers—we're being herded into formation."
"You were conscripted?" Avis sounded surprised.
"Looking back on it now…yeah, I guess," Jafa shrugged. "Probably into a penal battalion—one of those units made up of criminals and misfits which the Qarat usually send on suicide charges. Well, sure enough, we were marched right up north to Shantay Pass and given weapons," Jafa burst out into a small fit of laughter as he remembered the scene. "No armor, mind you, just weapons. And shoddy ones at that. We were lined up on top of the wall that spanned the pass…five hundred prisoner-soldiers to man the entire wall…it was madness. But we did it."
"Why did they need you there?"
"Getting to that," Jafa replied. Avis made a mental promise to keep his mouth shut until Jafa was finished. "Some army units showed up later, and they manned the wall with us. We stood there all morning and afternoon—we had been marched there through the night. At first, it was boring as hell. Nothing happened, nothing was going on…I started playing dice with some of the Qaratai there. Nice guys, all of them… That was when the rumbling started again. It was a light tremor in the earth, but the sound of it echoing off the mountain pass…" Jafa shuddered. "Not long after, we finally caught sight of them."
"Of who?"
"Less of a 'who' and more of a what," Jafa explained. "Monsters from the myths and legends only the elders still know…beasts from the deep places of the world…vampyres, wolves, demons…undead…" the sixteen-year-old shuddered at the memory. "There were thousands, thousands of them, all marching together in a massive horde; all of them under the banner of the Dark God Zamorak…his foul symbol was easy to spot from atop the ramparts…they were all coming right toward us, coming right at the Shantay Pass wall. We've lost all contact with our cities and settlements up north…seeing a horde like that coming towards us, I wouldn't want to bet on the survival of anyone north of the Pass."
"Why haven't we heard of this yet?" Avis asked incredulously. "Why aren't there alarms going off, why isn't the Qarat shoring up the city for a siege?!"
"Because the only ones who know about what's happening up north are the poor bastards who are dying up there now, and the Qarat commanders, and the Qarat commanders think they have the situation under control. They aren't gonna get the whole empire up in a panic if they can help it."
Farrah sat and listened silently to Jafa's story. This was his first time hearing it as well, though he had managed to hold his tongue better than Avis. Now, he spoke. "Did Shantay Pass hold?"
"I have no idea," Jafa shrugged. "More and more Qarat units were arriving as Zamorak's horde approached…the next night I stole a camel and slipped away. No way in hell I was throwing my life away on that wall…I wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place; my labor sentence had already been completed. So, I slipped away under cover of night. I met a few Bedabin nomads in the heart of the desert along the way, and they gave me water and supplies…I got back to Ullek yesterday. I left the Pass two weeks ago, and I left before the fighting began…but I knew the capabilities of that wall, and I saw how massive Zamorak's army was…and I can tell you, without a doubt, that the defenders at Shantay Pass don't stand a chance. Didn't stantd a chance…there's no possible way they could have held that wall for this long."
"So let me get this straight," Farrah cleared his throat, trying to get to the bottom of what Jafa had been saying. "A huge Zamorakian horde has broken through the Shantay Pass and is about to hit us from the north? And no one here has any idea? Where did these forces come from? How did-"
"I know what I saw," Jafa reasserted, folding his arms across his chest defensively. "I told the first Qarat guard captain I came across all about what I saw up north and he nearly arrested me for trying to disrupt the peace. I'm telling you, there's a storm coming, and the people here are too thickheaded to see how big it is. But there is a bright side," the adolescent added.
"Oh, really?" Farrah cocked an eyebrow, curious to see where Jafa could take this.
"Yeah," Jafa nodded. "Well, a small bright side attached to a crapload of dark sides, but still… I believe the horde that I saw at the Shantay Pass was just the vanguard. They were very lightly supplied and lightly armed, as if they were just scouting the route out. They seemed hesitant to engage in a head-on attack when they caught sight of us on the wall, and they had no siege weaponry. I think those thousands of monsters and beasts were only part of a larger force, and they are probably regrouping right now. Getting a force of tens of thousands through the Shantay Pass will take time, but they will do it. The bright side is that Uzer stands in between them and us. The Empire will get its wake-up call when Zamorak's forces burn Uzer to the ground, giving us the chance to start shoring up Ullek's defenses before the horde arrives here."
"Why are you not one of the Pharaoh's military advisors?" Farrah chuckled. "You speak exactly like one…"
"Hey," Jafa shrugged, "you of all people know that I of all people would never make something like this up. If those monsters start attacking Ullek, I'm hightailing my ass down south to Sophanem."
"I trust you completely, young man," Farrah reassured the adolescent. "Your news is very…very…" the old man searched for a word that could adequately sum up Jafa's account, "…very troubling, to say the least…"
"No argument here," Jafa grunted.
Farrah remained silent for another minute, staring off into the candlelight, absentmindedly stroking his beard. He took a deep breath and gave Jafa a satisfied nod. "Thank you, Jafa… I need to speak with Avinius; would you excuse us?"
Jafa shook his head, getting up out of his chair. "No, you can just stay here; I'm hitting the sack anyway. I've had a long day, too."
"See you in the morning, then," Farrah said, bowing his head slightly to the adolescent.
"Likewise," Jafa returned the bow. "'Night, Avis."
"Good night," Avis hollered after Jafa as the sixteen-year-old ducked into the dormitory room, leaving the ten-year-old alone at the table with Farrah.
Farrah reached into his pocket and drew out his long, elegant Badb pipe. He packed the pipeweed into the bowl of the pipe and lit it with one of the candles. He took several long draughts from the pipe, getting the airflow moving through the stem, before he started to smoke it proper, drawing in a mouthful of flavored smoke, and then releasing it into the air with his breath.
"I do enjoy having you here, Avinius; you should visit more often," the old man said to the ten-year-old in between puffs.
"I like being out in the city," Avis replied, settling into his chair as he spoke. "I don't like having any one place to be tied to…like this place, no offense. I like it better out in the throng of things…there's an energy in everything out there, you know, and when I travel through the city, immerse myself in it…I can feel that energy, I can lose myself in it. I can't describe it…" Avis's voice trailed off. The boy looked down at his feet and wondered if he had said too much. He usually never talked about his inner experiences out in the city.
Farrah nodded, as if he was confirming something he already suspected. Turns out, he was. The old man leaned forward and gently grabbed hold of Avis's wrists, observing the manacles that were still clamped around them.
"Can you get them off?" Avis asked, motioning to the iron bands.
"I'm afraid not," Farrah shook his head. "Unless you can find a blacksmith to break them off, those irons are not going anywhere…" Farrah murmured. He turned Avis's wrists over and observed the broken links of the chain that had used to connect the two manacles to each other, the chain that Avis had broken. "Tell me, Avinius…how exactly did you break this chain?" the old man asked.
Avis swore inside his mind. He had hoped his changing of topics during the earlier conversation had made Farrah forget about the broken chain…apparently the old man had a better memory than Avis gave him credit for.
"The links were not melted open, nor were they broken, ripped, or forcibly torn. The broken link is sheared perfectly in half," Farrah observed.
Avis pulled his wrists away.
Farrrah did not relent. "The metal that chain was made out of was not pure iron; it was a mix of iron and other metals, which is called an alloy. The alloy that chain was made out of was many times stronger than regular iron; nothing short of a full battleaxe could have cut it perfectly in half. And I know for a fact that battleaxes capable of dealing such a blow exist only in Centralia," the old man pressed on. "You can see the conundrum I have brought to light? There is no possible way you could have broken that chain by use of conventional…or physical means."
Avis said nothing. Farrah was already figuring everything out for himself; Avis had nothing to say that the old man did not most likely already know.
Farrah took Avis's silence as another confirmation. "That energy you described, that ability to almost…to feel the life of the city, of its inhabitants all around you; it has a name, you know. It is called the Anima Mundi—the Soul of the World. It is the energy of this world, vested in all living things. To be able to feel it as you do…" Farrah leaned in close, holding his pipe down to the table as he spoke. "You used Air Magic, didn't you?" the old man asked quietly.
"Yes," Avis admitted. There was no point in lying; Farrah would see right through any deception Avis could come up with.
Farrah leaned back into his chair. The old man slipped his pipe back into his mouth and drew another breath, exhaling the scented smoke back into the air. "How long have you had this ability?"
"Long as I can remember."
"Since birth, then…" Farrah nodded again. To him, it was making sense. "Do you know what runestones are?"
"Yeah, kind of…" Avis replied, giving a slight shrug. "I know they have something to do with casting magic."
"Runestones are items imbibed with the power of the elements," Farrah explained to the ten-year-old. "The energy within them, channeled through a wizard's life energy, allows a human, elf, or other sentient creatures, to cast magic. It cannot be done without them."
"I've been using Air magic since I was born, and I never used one of these 'runestones,'" Avis declared, exposing the hole in Farrah's explanation.
"Exactly; that is one of the things that has me confused…" Farrah murmured. The old man fell silent once again, settling into a deep, pensive reverie, sitting and rocking in his chair as he smoked his pipe. When he spoke again, it was no longer about Avis's Ability. It was something different, this time.
"Avinius…" the old man murmured. "A unique name…I'm sure you know what it means?"
"Of the Stars," Avis answered correctly.
"Yes…I was the one who gave you that name when you were an infant, you know," Farrah said. "Let me tell you why. I think it's time I explained where you came from."