She stared at him. “How can that be? It takes two days just to reach…Fowlrox—” She stopped, her insides shriveling.
He nodded. “Fowlrox is the gateway city to Stonehollow. When we reach it, we will be within range of the Arch-Rike’s power. He employs certain devices that enable him to summon people back to his presence. With these devices, we will travel much faster. There are minions in the air that watch for us to approach.”
“I see,” Phae said, swallowing despondently. “Well, let me fix your shirt anyway. We can start walking soon if you wish.”
The Kishion stripped off his shredded tunic. He was in the prime of health, but she saw that the scars that had ravaged his face also inflicted his chest as well, as if some great beast had savaged him years before and he had healed from it.
She pulled out the needle and started on the first gash in the torn garment. She worked quickly and deftly now that there was plenty of light. “You do not remember how you got the scars on your face?”
“No.” His lip curled almost into a snarl. “But I have the suspicion, after last night, that it was inflicted by a bear. Or some other creature with long claws.”
“There are bears in Stonehollow,” Phae said. “We were warned as children not to stray too far and to make noise as we walk after they have finished their winter sleep. Their meat is delicious. Maybe this is your country. Maybe this is why your memories are starting to return?”
The Kishion shrugged. “When the creature attacked me last night, I feared it. I knew it could not hurt me.” He rubbed his forehead angrily. “Yet I feared it. It must have something to do with my past. Something to do with these scars. I had them before becoming a Kishion. That must be true. But I cannot remember anything about it.”
Phae secured the end of the line with heavy stitching and then bit the remaining thread loose before continuing her work on a ripped seam. “Are there other feelings you have had that were also from your past? Places that you recognize visiting? People that you have met?” She tried to make it look as if she was merely seeking conversation. She hoped to learn more about him and hoped it might provide an idea to escape. The looming threat of Kenatos spurred her on.
“The locket,” he answered, fishing it from a pocket. “I think it was the music that attracted the bear last night. My own fault, not yours. Something about the sound haunts me. As if I should know it.” He rested his chin on his muscled forearm. “It is maddening.”
“You said you took it from a man?” Phae asked after a long pause. “You said it was made by a Paracelsus.” She looked him in the eye but he would not meet her gaze.
He rubbed his chin back and forth across his forearm, his expression cloudy with turmoil.
She finished another tattered line and worked on another, letting the sunlight warm her face and hands. She bit off the thread. “It was my father.”
He nodded mutely, refusing to look at her.
“You said last night that I wouldn’t want to know more,” she said softly, working the needle and thread effortlessly. “I can see why now.” She sighed. “He is dead?”
The Kishion sighed deeply. “Yes.”
She was not sure how she should feel. Her father had abandoned her at an orphanage. Granted, he had made sure it was one that would not fear her heritage and magic, but he had done nothing to reveal himself to her and his own actions had violated the Arch-Rike’s trust. Now she was condemned because of him. The emotions were twisting and twining around each other, layer after layer. She resented her father. She craved to know more, even if it would wound her. What betrayal had he done to earn the Arch-Rike’s contempt?
“I never knew him,” Phae said, trying to keep control of her voice, to keep the conversation going. “I wish that I did. You do not remember your past, but what can you tell me of his?”
“You despise me,” he said flatly. “Don’t pretend otherwise. I do not begrudge you that emotion. I despise myself right now.”
“For killing him?” she asked, leaning forward.
“It was my duty,” he answered stiffly. “I am not entrusted with the reasons for my assignments, only to carry them out. I was first sent to arrest your father and bring him to the Arch-Rike for questioning. When I arrived at his tower, he used his magic to cause the tower to explode. I was left under a pile of rubble. Whether he knew the blast would kill me or not, I do not know, but it slowed me down. I began hunting him. His own actions labeled him guilty of treason. I fulfilled my assignment when I stabbed him and left his dead body crumpled near the edge of a pond. I don’t regret killing him. But I do regret that I am the one telling you about it.”
He nodded. “Fowlrox is the gateway city to Stonehollow. When we reach it, we will be within range of the Arch-Rike’s power. He employs certain devices that enable him to summon people back to his presence. With these devices, we will travel much faster. There are minions in the air that watch for us to approach.”
“I see,” Phae said, swallowing despondently. “Well, let me fix your shirt anyway. We can start walking soon if you wish.”
The Kishion stripped off his shredded tunic. He was in the prime of health, but she saw that the scars that had ravaged his face also inflicted his chest as well, as if some great beast had savaged him years before and he had healed from it.
She pulled out the needle and started on the first gash in the torn garment. She worked quickly and deftly now that there was plenty of light. “You do not remember how you got the scars on your face?”
“No.” His lip curled almost into a snarl. “But I have the suspicion, after last night, that it was inflicted by a bear. Or some other creature with long claws.”
“There are bears in Stonehollow,” Phae said. “We were warned as children not to stray too far and to make noise as we walk after they have finished their winter sleep. Their meat is delicious. Maybe this is your country. Maybe this is why your memories are starting to return?”
The Kishion shrugged. “When the creature attacked me last night, I feared it. I knew it could not hurt me.” He rubbed his forehead angrily. “Yet I feared it. It must have something to do with my past. Something to do with these scars. I had them before becoming a Kishion. That must be true. But I cannot remember anything about it.”
Phae secured the end of the line with heavy stitching and then bit the remaining thread loose before continuing her work on a ripped seam. “Are there other feelings you have had that were also from your past? Places that you recognize visiting? People that you have met?” She tried to make it look as if she was merely seeking conversation. She hoped to learn more about him and hoped it might provide an idea to escape. The looming threat of Kenatos spurred her on.
“The locket,” he answered, fishing it from a pocket. “I think it was the music that attracted the bear last night. My own fault, not yours. Something about the sound haunts me. As if I should know it.” He rested his chin on his muscled forearm. “It is maddening.”
“You said you took it from a man?” Phae asked after a long pause. “You said it was made by a Paracelsus.” She looked him in the eye but he would not meet her gaze.
He rubbed his chin back and forth across his forearm, his expression cloudy with turmoil.
She finished another tattered line and worked on another, letting the sunlight warm her face and hands. She bit off the thread. “It was my father.”
He nodded mutely, refusing to look at her.
“You said last night that I wouldn’t want to know more,” she said softly, working the needle and thread effortlessly. “I can see why now.” She sighed. “He is dead?”
The Kishion sighed deeply. “Yes.”
She was not sure how she should feel. Her father had abandoned her at an orphanage. Granted, he had made sure it was one that would not fear her heritage and magic, but he had done nothing to reveal himself to her and his own actions had violated the Arch-Rike’s trust. Now she was condemned because of him. The emotions were twisting and twining around each other, layer after layer. She resented her father. She craved to know more, even if it would wound her. What betrayal had he done to earn the Arch-Rike’s contempt?
“I never knew him,” Phae said, trying to keep control of her voice, to keep the conversation going. “I wish that I did. You do not remember your past, but what can you tell me of his?”
“You despise me,” he said flatly. “Don’t pretend otherwise. I do not begrudge you that emotion. I despise myself right now.”
“For killing him?” she asked, leaning forward.
“It was my duty,” he answered stiffly. “I am not entrusted with the reasons for my assignments, only to carry them out. I was first sent to arrest your father and bring him to the Arch-Rike for questioning. When I arrived at his tower, he used his magic to cause the tower to explode. I was left under a pile of rubble. Whether he knew the blast would kill me or not, I do not know, but it slowed me down. I began hunting him. His own actions labeled him guilty of treason. I fulfilled my assignment when I stabbed him and left his dead body crumpled near the edge of a pond. I don’t regret killing him. But I do regret that I am the one telling you about it.”
