corrected. “It’s mine now.”
The pair shared a look and Zalee returned her sword to its sheath. Uthul gestured to the rod. “Do you understand its use?”
Surprised by the question, Cael realized Uthul had to know what the relic was to have asked it. He shook his head. “Understand it? No, but I can make it work.”
“Do you know how it came to be in your father’s possession? Could he use its power too?”
Certain the pair could take it from them if that was what they wished, Cael saw no point in lying. “My father used it to heal.” He met Uthul’s bright gaze. “Before it was my dad’s, it was my grandfather’s, passed to him by his father. I don’t know how he came to own it.”
“It was once a gift from the Sha’ree; our people,” Zalee said, the heat of anger still tingeing her voice.
Cael stared without blinking as the words sank in, but they made no sense. He looked to the relic and then to Zalee, then at last to Uthul. If the relic had come from the Sha’ree, why did they seem so afraid of it? He had never known it to do harm.
“Have you come to take it back?”
“No. It is yours to keep, but we seek the bearers of such gifts. It is fortunate tidings indeed that we happened upon you. Will you travel with us?”
Cael didn’t hesitate to accept. He nodded.
Uthul reached inside his cloak and drew out a silver pouch and a small, shimmering blue orb. He tossed the bag near the rod and rolled the orb gently over the ground. The orb spun to a stop in the undergrowth and Cael could hear a whispered hum emanating from it as its glimmer grew brighter. Soft white light leaked from its crystalline face and illuminated the forest for ten feet around as though the sun had dawned right there. Despite its impressive brightness, Cael was able to look directly upon it without any ill effect.
Without a word, Zalee drifted into the trees at the very edge of the light’s domain and disappeared.
“Use the rod to heal your wound. When you are done, place it in the pouch I provided. Once the pouch is sealed, call to us. Zalee and I shall be nearby, so you will be safe.” He drew back until he was little more than faint silhouette against the darker shadows outside of the light’s range. “Make haste, young one. There is much ground for us to cover.” His voice drifted through the darkness as he too faded away.
Once Cael could see Uthul no more, he dropped down beside the rod, plucking it from the ground. The cold stings pricked at his fingers immediately. Wanting nothing more than to rid his shoulder of the terrible, throbbing pain that set it afire, he moved his dirty tunic out of the way and pressed the relic to his flesh.
Once again, the symbols along its length shimmered with green. He willed its power alive and after just a few moments, his arm was once more whole, the pain gone.
He did as he was asked and slipped the relic inside the silver pouch, pulling the ties tight. Once he was sure it was closed, he called out to Uthul.
The Sha’ree were at his side within two beats of his heart, appearing like ghosts from the murk of the forest. He jumped at their sudden arrival, holding up the sealed bag to cover the palpitations of his frantic pulse.
“Good. Now store it away, young one.”
Cael stuffed the pouch into his waistband and drew the clasp of his belt tight to hold it there. “The name’s Cael.”
Uthul gave a shallow bow. “We are well met, Cael.”
Zalee did the same, the look on her face having softened somewhat. “Come, Cael, we must go.” She gestured to the glowing orb. “Take up the light so you may see, but bear it gently in travel. The fire beetle inside might not take kindly to its entrapment were it to be freed.”
The Sha’ree turned and strode into the darkness of the woods. Cael, not wanting to be left behind, snatched up the crystal orb and was surprised to notice it was cool to the touch. No time to marvel at its power, he raced to keep up to the pair. Though he knew not where they were leading him, he was certain he no longer had to fear the terrors that roamed the Dead Lands.
For Cael, that was enough.
Chapter Eleven
Ellora stared wide eyed as a young boy dashed around the corner, nearly colliding with her. She threw herself against the wall as the boy kicked up a cloud of dirt in his attempt to stop. A few feet past her, he finally skidded to a halt, spinning on his heels to look at her.
“The watch,” he gasped, pointing back the way he’d come. He drew in a deep breath, his chest expanding almost comically. “The watch is coming.”
Before Ellora had time to respond, the boy tore off down the road to warn the rest of orphans from the Ninth who were out on the Sixth begging for a few meager coins to make it through the day, or stealing it when the opportunity presented itself.
Ellora’s heart thumped loudly in her chest as the boy’s words sunk in. While there was no specific law against the orphans being on the level, the watch had made it very clear they were not welcome there. As the levels rose toward the Crown, so did the quality of life for those who lived on them.
The first two levels were jammed with the poor, the crippled and unwell, those unable to bear their own burdens without help. The level right above those were where the soldiers and field workers lived. Ranking officers, merchants, and the lower nobilities started on the Sixth, where Ellora and her orphan friends often gathered to make their way.
The Sixth was the perfect place to garner sympathy, its residents close enough to the circumstances of the Ninth to feel pity. Go any higher and the callous cruelty of the noble classes set in. With little patience for beggars, and far less for thieves, to beg on the Fifth or higher was to earn a beating, at the very least. The nobles valued their property too much so to simply give it away and their vengeance was swift upon those caught stealing.
Ellora dashed into a nearby alley and ducked low behind a haphazard pile of waste that waited to be shipped to the Ninth for disposal. The rank smell filled her nose, but she barely noticed. Compared to what filled the air in the Ninth, its mild stink was nothing.
She peered out over the trash as the stomp of boots sounded around the corner. Though the watch was often lenient with the orphans they found on the level, doing little more than escorting them back to their rightful place, there had been a number of complaints made against them in recent days. To make matters worse, the soldiers had kicked them off the level just hours before.
The watch wouldn’t be so lenient this time.
Ellora’s breath caught in her lungs as the soldiers stomped into sight. She readied to run but knew immediately they hadn’t come to chase dirty orphans from the Sixth. They were about far more important duties.
She cast her eyes over the group of sour-faced men, led by the watch commander himself. In the middle of the wall of soldiers, shields and spears, a ragged man walked with his chin down, his bearded face turned away from the world.
Emboldened by the soldiers’ focus on the man, Ellora stood and stepped from behind the obscuring waste to get a better look. She hugged the shadows of the wall and inched toward the street, her eyes never leaving the prisoner.
He walked like a man destined for the gallows, his strength and will drained from his stride as though he knew his breaths were numbered. Ellora had seen such a walk before; she had seen it with her own father.
He had gone to the rope for killing a merchant who’d cheated him of his last few silvers. Those coins had meant everything to her father. They were what would have kept food on his family’s table through the cold winter months and wood in the oven for heat. To lose them was the final step off a steep cliff, her father’s pride and wavering hope shoved mercilessly over the edge.
Ellora was told he had strangled the man so violently the merchant’s eyes had popped loose from their sockets. The watch found her father, his hands still tight around the merchant’s cold, rigid neck, wracked with sobs that wouldn’t cease. They dragged him away in tears only to march him out into the field two dawns later. It was the last time Ellora had seen her father alive.
