Part II
Torch was a fairly simple city-state to navigate, even if you had never visited before. The entire metropolis was laid out on a grid, with the two main natural borders of the Annamarti Bay in the north and the Pasquo River in the west. The west-to-east routes were called streets and were numbered in ascending order starting from the harbor, and the north-to-south routes were avenues, numbered starting at the river. Old Town, which included the decidedly antique cultural area with museums, high end restaurants, and the symphony house, directly adjacent to the seedy nightlife backstreets collectively called Suanluz, started at 1st Street and 1st Avenue and extended as far as 38th Street and 42nd Avenue, ending where the remains of the old walls of Torch’s fortress stood, after which the city became the residential, administrative, and industrial districts.
By the time daybreak came, Mason was quite sure they’d explored every inch of Old Town for the two demons Ren was hunting, to no avail. He had studied Torch’s culture and layout prior to venturing there, and although Torch was a small city-state —compared to San Barthon, at least — the sheer expense of energy was exhausting, especially at Ren’s pace. He never stopped to complain or catch his breath, however, out of fear that the Legion would simply leave him without any knowledge of where to find her. Then he’d be back to where he started. She hadn’t spoken very much with him over the past few hours, which was probably a good thing for him. He couldn’t tell if she was still mad at him for unintentionally exposing her, or if she was just completely focused on the task at hand.
The sun crept over the Annamarti, bathing the entire harbor with golden yellows, roses, and oranges, and Mason stopped for just one second to admire its beauty, forgetting a very impatient Ren.
“Hey, Alderic.” She looked at him expectantly as she stood in front of a large, ancient looking building, pointing at the door.
Mason wasn’t quite sure where “here” was, but he was hoping it included some type of bed. On the large window was a Torchin word, but he couldn’t decipher it. During his studies, he had neglected many of the southeastern languages in favor of the more widely-known eastern and northern ones. He did however recognize that this was most likely a shop of some kind and thought to remind Ren that it was just now dawn. The urge was quickly thrown aside when he remembered how she had been able to shove a Vitorian man like the rag doll his younger sister used to play with as a child. Also, she seemed testy still.
Ren knocked lightly on the door, which open a minute or so later to reveal a short elderly Torchi man, whose weathered and wrinkled face instantaneously broke into a wide grin. Behind him stood a stout elderly woman with a much less cordial look on her face.
“Ahhhh, Ren!” He opened his arms and hugged her warmly, speaking to her in Torching. The old woman huffed and tightened the belt on her robe but said nothing. Only after a few moments of chatting, when she realized that Mason was completely lost, did Ren finally introduce the two men.
“Oh. Um, Mason, this is Viji. Viji, this is Mason. Dormani sent him, blah blah.” She waved her hand dismissively and strode into the building. “Which is actually something I need to discuss with the Council. Do you mind?”
Viji smiled again as he watched Ren make her way past his wife and into the building, and he then turned to Mason, bowing slightly at the waist.
“Welcome, are you a Master Scholar?”
“Oh, no.” Mason shook his head. “I’m still in training, but I hope to be one day. Grand Scholar Dormani believes I have much promise.”
“Well, in that case, welcome to my shop, Maninder, Master Scholar in Training. This is my wife Prama.” Viji extended his hand to the woman who reluctantly came forward and bobbed her head in a sort of obligated honor to his position. Obviously unimpressed and even less thrilled to be awake at this hour, she mumbled a few words to Viji, gave Mason the once-over, and grunted as she shuffled back into the building and up the stairs.
With a graceful sweep of his hand, Viji invited Mason inside, quickly following after him.
Maninder was apparently centered around the sale of talismans, crystals, herbs, and potions. It had the slightest tinge of incense in the air, and on the opposite side of the room was what appeared to be a seating area, with an overstuffed, low-sitting settee and piles of plush pillows arranged neatly in a semicircle on the floor. He was suddenly overcome with fatigue; he mentally tallied the number of hours it had been since he had slept, and the total came to 26, the last four of which were spent maintaining a sprinter’s pace, barely able to match the marathon Ren was apparently running.
“Are you hungry?” asked Viji, smoothing the sparse hair that was matted onto his head.
Mason, appreciative of some courtesy, shook his head. “I was actually hoping for some rest.”
“Ah, yes. It is understandable. Ren is a busy woman and moves like she is made of bees, yes?”
It could have been. his exhaustion, but Mason found this image incredibly funny. “Yes, sir. She does indeed.”
From the back room, Ren could be heard shouting through the slightly ajar door, and Viji excused himself for a moment, leaving Mason alone with Prama. When the heavy door fully opened as Viji entered, Mason could clearly hear Ren arguing with someone.
“You actually expect me to risk both my life and his just so you can — oh, shut up, I don’t care how early it is.”
Viji nervously bowed and nearly slammed the darkly stained door shut behind him.
Before meeting Ren, Mason had only been introduced to three Legions, all of whom were guards at the Grand Council’s palace in Sain Barthon. They were older Legions, in their mid- to late-thirties, most likely in what could be considered retirement. It was a much easier job than the one they were conscripted into, from what Mason understood, and they had an air of calmness around them that was missing in Ren.
Made of bees, he mused. He tried imagining what she was saying right now to the Council, if the snippet he caught was any indication. Phelan Dormani, the current Grand Scholar and head of the Council, had prepared him for his introduction to Ren, comparing the warrior to one of the wild big cats that wandered the Garundzaht: difficult, lethal, and cunning.
“The Legion will not welcome you,” Dormani had warned, clucking his tongue. “I promise you that.”
How Mason had missed that Ren was a woman made him wonder if his superior had intentionally left him unaware, or if he just hadn’t noticed it when it was mentioned in the rather hurried briefing he received before departing from Sain Barthon. It certainly hadn’t won him any points with the Legion, he thought regretfully. The mere thought that she would force him back to Sain Barthon sent a pang of disappointment through him. He’d spent too much time getting to this point to turn back now, even if it wouldn’t be his choice.
Instead of dwelling on it, he walked over to the lounging space and sat in the middle of what might have been the most comfortable couch he’d ever had the pleasure of sitting on. Prama, who’d since returned from upstairs with new attire, frustratedly prattled off to him in Torching, mostly likely telling him to get his foreigner ass off of her furniture, but Mason was already slipping into a much needed slumber.
* * *
The flickering image of Phelan Dormani perfectly reflected his irritation, in spite of the shoddy connection. Otherwise, he was maintaining his composure, even with Ren’s string of frustrated cursing. He must have been attractive once, if his bone structure was to be believed, but the years of stress of his job had added several deep wrinkles on his face and several gray hairs, some of which Ren hoped she had put there.
“I understand you feel encumbered by the addition of Scholar Alderic to your missions, but it is nonnegotiable.”
“Well, apparently, you don’t understand.” Ren threw her arms in the air and began pacing again.
“You have proven yourself to be exceptionally capable,” Dormani continued, his speech slow and deliberate, “which is why -“
“You don’t have to deal with the consequences of any of this, and I am not -“
“That will be all, Legion. This is not up for discussion. Scholar Alderic is required to report at regular intervals and you will cooperate, regardless of your opinion on the matter.”
He opened his mouth to continue, but Ren quickly. hissed, “Fine,” as she gritted her teeth and mashed her finger on the monitor’s off button. In the years she had been a Legion, she never had much love for Dormani, let alone the Council, but there were times when she might have said she hated him. This was one of those times.
“That was the most useless ten minutes of my life,” she said, flailing her hand quickly and accidentally knocking a vase from next to the monitor across the room. It narrowly missed Viji, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground, meditating somehow, as it shattered against the wall. His body twitched, startled by the abrupt distraction.
As he started to push himself off the floor, he stopped and shook his head. “I suppose you should be thankful that was a mere replica of the Vase of Barillona instead of the real thing, or else you would be going on a quest for me, as well.”
“Sorry,” she said, waving her hand distractedly. “This is just … dammit. Dammit.”
She punched the wall, leaving a slight dent on its adobe ace. She started mumbling in Bekamese and swung to hit the wall again only to have Viji step in front of her. He was nimble for his age, and luckily for him, Ren’s reaction time hadn’t slowed.
“I don’t want to have to replace that wall again,” he sighed.
“Sorry,” she repeated.
She collapsed onto the wooden chair in front of the communicator. Ren had only heard of the Scholar’s occasionally encumbering Legions with members of their own ranks but figured that she, as a Shadow Legion, would never have to suffer it, that the Scholars would never doom one of their own to perish in an overly violent manner. After all, even they showed surprise whenever she or any of her contemporaries returned victorious. But here it was: a young Scholar, eager to please his superiors, and ignorant of the danger that desire would pose.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Viji, grabbing a broom to clean up the fractured vase.
“That if Dormani hadn’t pissed me off as much as he did, I might have told him what’s really bugging me.”
“Which is?”
“This isn’t a Shadow mission that I’m on.” She leaned back in the chair. “I mean, they’re tricky, sure. They’ve been able to stay just out of my reach for two since the Estoire, and that’s a rare feat, but they’re just two shape-shifters. Even their casualty count is low: only six.”
“Only six, eh?” Viji remarked with a raised brow.
“You know what I mean,” she said, propping her feet on the console table. “It’s part of the reason I didn’t come to you when I first got here. I figured, wham-bam-done, drinks at Viji’s.”
Viji said nothing as he swept the shards into a dustbin.
“Maybe they’re trying to break him in. And in their weird way, give me a break.” She sighed. “I hate this. It just keeps getting worse; they make these decisions on high and just leave me to deal with the aftermath.
Letting out a chuckled, Viji continued sweeping the floor for leftover pieces of the vase. “It is the way of things.”
“But should it be? They aren’t on the front lines. They don’t see the things I see every day.”
Viji leaned against the broom and laughed. “Do you think that I enjoy calling all of them ‘Master’ and deferring to their will? No, I do not. But as I said, it is the way of things. And it keeps them off my back to do what I need to do.”
“Yeah, but if they told me to take you along, you can at least defend yourself if anything came ups but that child out there has no idea what he’s being sent to do. He’d be trying to impress me and then get his neck snapped or he’d walk into a spear.”
“Then you must protect him, Ren,” Viji said quietly. “And that starts now.”
He looked at her knowingly and grinned kindly.
She had to hand it to Viji; he knew how to calm her, always had. He was one of the first Visions she had met after becoming a Legion. He sometimes seemed clairvoyant, at least when it came to her. He could just read her very well, he had explained before, although Ren entertained the notion that his Vision capabilities — telepathy, energy channeling, precognition — might actually be the source of his connection with her.
“Unless I can convince him to go back himself, she considered hopefully.
Viji shook his head in amusement. “We both know that will not happen, or it is as likely to happen as Dormani allowing it.”
“That’s true enough,” Ren admitted. Dormani was a nothing if not stubborn. “So do you need anything to help me locate these demons?”
The Vision set the broom by the wall, next to the broken vase’s remains. “What else can you tell me about them?
Ren crossed her arms on her chest, trying to recall every detail that might be pertinent. “They seem to only hunt at night and prefer crowded spaces. Their auras are probably going to be weak, too, since they haven’t had anything substantial to eat for close to a week, but they’re desperate now. Maybe grabbing vermin to get enough strength for a hunt.”
He nodded with his eyes closed.
“That should be enough to get me started,” he said after a few moments. “I will be meditating on this while you sleep.”
“I’m a little too wound up right now,” she replied, taking off her jacket and slinging it over her shoulder.
“You should get some rest, Ren,” warned Viji as he opened the massive door. “When did you last sleep?”
His mild, fatherly scolding attempts were comical, since both knew that Ren would do as she pleased. They laughed at each other and started out of the back room.
“I’ll be fine,” she tried to reassure him as he closed the door and keyed the code to lock it. “Trust me. The course is still out back, yeah?”
She turned around to head outside and saw Alderic, passed out on the low couch in the dimly lit meditation corner of the shop: sprawled out rather indelicately, his legs spread wide, left arm on the floor, and a thin trail of drool on his face.
“He was tired,” said Prama sarcastically. “Tired enough to sleep in a customer area. I don’t know how much business we will lose today if he doesn’t wake up. Ren, move him.”
Both Viji and Ren fought to keep from laughing, but Prama was not in such a light mood. She stormed back upstairs, cursing in Old Torchin the whole way.
a little more juju 