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19. Games

Aug 31, 2010

Ebin said, “You begin to see, then, why I have invited you to play my game.”

Jinn nodded. If Ebin worked for a Bespin Seraph, there could only be one reason: the dresl. Ebin’s next question confirmed his suspicions.

“Did the leopard dresl join you willingly, or did you and your brother kidnap her?” He turned his head to the side. “We would ask your brother, but his throat was regrettably crushed, and we would prefer not to wait for him to heal.”

The mention of his brother was intended to throw Jinn off balance. It did. He had expected Maza’s imprisonment to be that of a political subversive: detained but comfortable.

“Where is he being held?” Jinn demanded, then immediately bit his tongue. Foolish! He was wasting a question on information he could not act on.

Ebin clapped his hands together. “I agree to this trade,” he said.

The deal was done. Jinn could not back out now, or change his question. Part of him didn’t care. He wanted news of his brother, foolish though that desire may be.

“The dresl joined us freely,” Jinn answered. Truth, though as minimal a truth as he could manage. He and Maza had done their best to make her disappearance seem to be a kidnapping, but in reality, it had been more of a liberation.

The dresl were not slaves, precisely, but when the concubine of a powerful Seraph learned information she was not supposed to know, she had very few options for leaving her post which did not involve a casket.

Ebin clucked his tongue. “Ah, that is disappointing to hear. The Seraph held out hope that she might return to service with him. He will decide her fate, not I, but I would not lay odds against her continued good health.”

“Your answer is simple enough. Maza is currently a guest of honor at Ursa Luna.”

Jinn froze. Ursa Luna was the maximum security prison used only by Seraph. Guests of honor served a life sentence. A very short life sentence.

He had not expected that at all. At worst, he’d thought they might have him in Salusa, or maybe Hubble Bay. Ursa Luna was very bad news.

“Ah! I see I have given you food for thought. You didn’t expect … ah, but you did! You planned a heroic rescue? How quaint!” Ebin’s eyes gleamed.

Jinn clenched his jaw. Remora’s promise to help him rescue his brother now seemed laughable. A fleet of warships might stand a chance against Ursa Luna. A single, ramshackle airship manned by a patchwork crew was unthinkable.

“Almost, I would like to see you try. Alas, I am not authorized to make such a decision.” At Ebin’s side, the notch-eared cat barked a peculiar, wheezing laugh.

Jinn pushed aside the thought of his brother in Ursa Luna. He could not help him from here. Remora, however, would not even be in trouble if it weren’t for him. She had been kidnapped and ransomed for the dresl girl, and he knew the cat standing next to Ebin was involved.

Which meant that Ebin was involved, which meant that she would be free were it not for Jinn’s troubles. The thought of her, alone in some cell, watched over by Ebin-who-liked-to-play-games and the notch-eared cat with shining eyes stiffened his spine.

He would find a way to rescue her.

“Where is Remora?” Jinn asked.

Ebin cocked his head to the side, surveying the other Shinra’ere from a different angle. “Ah, so the human girl has a name, does she? Remora. An odd sort of name. Is that not a fish? Yes, I believe it is. The sort of small, unassuming fish which swims with sharks. An apt name for a human traveling with Shinra’ere.”

“Very well,” he said, nodding. “I shall trade you this information if you will tell me precisely what information your brother hoped to learn from the white leopard dresl. In detail, if you please.”

Jinn closed his eyes, as if that would keep him from seeing his opportunity whisked away. “I cannot say.”

“Can not? Or will not? Come now, what is the location of your dirtsider sweetheart worth?”

“She is not my sweetheart,” Jinn barked back. “She is my employer.”

“Ah, then the rumors are true that you are a sellsword now,” Ebin said, eyes gleaming.

Jinn bit his tongue. His temper was giving away more information than he wanted, showing his true colors his brother would say. “Cannot,” he said. “My brother did not share with me the details of his plan.”

Ebin’s eyes widened, clearly astonished. “You abandoned your Clan, left your post, and deserted your people without even knowing the details of your tradeoff? No, I cannot believe it!”

“He is my brother.” It was truth that no one, not even Nolan, had ever truly understood.

“This is most disturbing,” Ebin said. “Perhaps your ignorance has bought a stay of execution for both your brother and the dresl girl. Temporary, of course. One must always reap the consequences of one’s actions, and your actions were quite naughty indeed.”

“This does, however, leave us at an uncomfortable impasse. Your question remains, but mine is unsatisfied. I shall have to think of a replacement.”

Ebin tapped his chin thoughtfully before brightening. “Ah, I have it! Rumor has it that you indulge in an entirely un-Shinra past-time, though I cannot myself fathom the attraction. They say that not only do you eat food, you specifically seek out a specific (and frivolous) kind of food. Pastries. Why would a Shinra-ere warrior bother?”

For a moment, the memory surfaced. Jinn and Maza, racing to the vendors at the wharves, laughing and dodging as they called out to each other or tried to slow the other’s progress. The last to reach the pastry vendor would have to pay for both cupcakes, and neither had enough money for two deluxe pastries.

Maza had won again. He always won, because he always cheated. This time, though, his cheating had earned Jinn a scraped knee and a raw elbow. By way of apology, he’d split the sprinkle-bedecked pastry in half, handing over the larger portion to Jinn.

“We’re brothers,” child-Maza had said, long before his shoulders sprouted wings and Jinn’s forehead mark traced itself across his face. “And brothers look out for each other.”

Jinn sucked in a breath and shook his head. “No deal,” he said.

“Come again?” said Ebin.

“I said, ‘No deal.’” Jinn closed down his face, not giving Ebin any hint of the emotions stirred up by his question.

“You will not trade the location of the human girl for the reason that you eat pastries with sprinkles?”

“No.”

Ebin stared at Jinn, open curiosity burning in his eyes. Jinn stared back. He would not give this man a cherished memory to tarnish and sully.

“Some day, Jinn of No Clan, I will learn the answer to that question.”

Jinn said nothing, though the brightness in Ebin’s eyes was more than a little disturbing. Ebin was clearly not accustomed to having his curiosity thwarted.

Scowling, the white-wrapped Shinra’ere sighed. “Very well then. Why did you return to Helion? Everyone thus far has assumed it had something to do with the dresl, but I am not so certain. You have made no attempts to contact or find the dresl that I have noticed.”

“I agree to this trade,” Jinn said immediately.

Ebin’s disappointment at his swift agreement was almost comical.

“Remora was shopping for groceries. As her bodyguard, I was compelled to join her.”

Ebin laughed at that, a short, surprised burst of merriment. “Groceries? You have returned to your homeland, outcast and sellsword, to pick up a dozen eggs and some bread? Ah, fortune smiles upon me! Not only have you returned sooner than I had hoped, you turn out to be a singularly worthless bodyguard. Your own past reaches forward to endanger your charge.”

Jinn clenched his jaw. He could not deny that, thus far, his stint as Remora’s bodyguard had been less than exemplary, but having Ebin say it so baldly was more than a little unpleasant.

“And now for my turn! Remora is currently being held on deck three of the swan-class airship Hyperion, under light guard. The Hyperion is currently docked in Reveille Bay and she departs at 12:30 this afternoon, headed for Bespin.”

“You seem remarkably happy to tell me this information,” Jinn said. How could he know that Ebin told the truth?

“Indeed I am,” said Ebin. “I do so love games. Can you escape this cage and reach her in time for a dramatic rescue, I wonder? It seems a harmless enough game, given your ineptitude.”

Dimly, the sound of deep-voiced bells reached Jinn’s ears, muffled by thick clay walls. Twelve times, the bells tolled before silencing.

“It would seem you have only a half hour, Jinn of No Clan. Try not to disappoint me.”

With that, Ebin twisted a knob on his lantern, dousing the light and plunging the room into darkness. Jinn heard a swirl of cloth overhead, then silence. He was alone.

Blindly, he walked to the nearest wall, one hand deftly pulling his weapon from its black-wrapped scabbard across his back. He twisted the hilt once and a spark of light jumped from the tip of the arc to the seat, a thin blue line humming and weakly illuminating the bare wall in front of him.

The door had been metal. Cutting through that would have been nearly impossible. The thin metal bars criscrossing the windows, on the other hand, were much weaker.

He twisted the hilt again, then again. The pitch of his Tesla sword’s hum wound higher as the wavelength of its energy arc grew tighter. Sharper.

Jinn applied his sword to the edge of the metal bars around the window, feeling seconds pass through his fingers like grains of sand.

He needed to hurry.

18. Trade

Aug 9, 2010

Jinn smiled. “So the stray cat does have an owner.”

The cat in question pinned his ears back. The Shinra’ere lifted a hand, stilling the dresl. “He does.”

Jinn put one shoulder against the wall, giving the appearance of being at ease while still granting easy access to the tassled hilt of his arcblade.

“You’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to get me here,” said Jinn conversationally.

“I have,” agreed Ebin, setting his back to the wall and making his own weapon unaccessible. Jinn’s eyes narrowed at the insult. Such a stance indicated that Ebin felt Jinn was no threat at all.

He wasn’t wrong, not with those bars between them. Jinn tried to keep the frown from his face, but an amused whisker twitch from the notch-eared cat indicated that he hadn’t quite succeeded.

The two Shinra’ere stood like that, silently staring at each other, for a few painfully long moments. Jinn felt each minute drag past, ticking ever closer to the noon hour required by the ransom note. He did not have the dresl, nor did he have any idea of where she or Remora might be. Much as he might want to impatiently demand answers from Ebin, he might have more to gain by waiting.

“I propose a trade,” said Ebin finally, breaking the tense silence.

Jinn smiled. He was the one in the cage, but Ebin was the one at a disadvantage. By speaking first, Ebin told Jinn two very important things. One, that he had more to lose or gain than Jinn and two, that he was unlikely to kill Jinn before getting what he wanted.

He needed Jinn alive. And that meant that bars or no bars, Jinn was the one in control of this situation.

“What is it you have that I might be interested in?” Jinn asked mildly.

Ebin smiled. “Information.”

Jinn nodded. “And what is it I have that you might be interested in?”

Ebin’s smile widened. “Information,” he repeated.

Jinn looked at the thin lattice of metal bars that separated him from the other Shinra’ere and wished them gone. A fair fight, that was all he wanted. Blade against blade, winner take all. These clever word games were not his strong suit.

The cat-dresl’s lips pulled back in a cat-like smile and Jinn realized that his thoughts had led his fingers to trace the unfamiliar knot of the tassel dangling from his hilt. The yellow color proclaimed his skill level, but the knotting design indicated clanship. As Jinn of No Clan, his clansman knot had been severed and replaced with the simple braid of an Outcast.

Jinn moved his hand away. No amount of wishing would dispel those bars. He needed to focus on the tools he did have available.

“Here is what I propose,” Ebin said, brushing an invisible speck of sand from the white folds of his wrappings. “We each ask a question. If we consider the truthful answer to our opponent’s question to be worth the trade, we shall trade. The answer must be truth, and must fully answer the stated question. Additionally, if the answer is unknown, that must be stated at the outset.”

“And if we do not wish to answer?”

“Then the asker may sweeten the deal by allowing a second question to pay for the information.”

“Why the game?” Jinn asked, eyes narrowed.

He shrugged. “I find torture to be less effective.”

A truth, but only a half-truth. Torture, especially of a trained Shinra’ere, was messy and time consuming. The real reason for the game was obvious. Like the cat beside him, the man liked to play with his prey. He enjoyed the battle of wits the way that Jinn enjoyed swordplay.

Not for the first time, Jinn wished his brother stood by his side. There was no political mind game created that Maza did not excel at.

The choice was no choice at all. Jinn nodded.

Ebin clapped his hands together once. “Excellent! Let us begin. We will start out small. Is it true that an outcast Shinra’ere loses his Mark?”

The question seemed innocuous, but Jinn knew it was not. Agoge campfire tales of the horrors of becoming Outcast had been encouraged by the elders and all of them revolved around losing the Mark. Without the Mark, they would no longer be Shinra’ere: a horror worse than death.

It seemed unlikely that Ebin was considering becoming Outcast himself, so the question was morbid curiosity alone. Jinn’s respect for Ebin dropped even lower.

Still, Ebin’s first question was easy enough to answer, distasteful as he found the subject matter. Now, Jinn had to decide what question he would ask in return.

Given the opportunity, a parade of questions thundered through his mind. Which to ask? He had so many. It had not been long since he left his Clan, but such news traveled swiftly. Part of him ached to know what had become of his own dresl team, abandoned when he severed his knot. What had become of his students? His brothers in arms?

Those questions would be foolish, though. He had left that life behind him, and could not go back now. Asking would be akin to pouring salt on an open wound, and would waste valuable information.

Regretfully, he set them aside. His current situation was what mattered most. Remora and the white leopard. He needed to keep them in mind. Furthermore, he needed to know who to hunt down if things went badly.

“What is your chain of command, as far up as you know it?” Jinn asked.

Ebin paused, his brows lifting. “Well, you certainly get to the heart of the matter.” He thought for a moment. “Very well, I agree to the trade.”

Jinn nodded. As Ebin had asked first, it was only fair that he give first answer.

In a smooth motion, Jinn reached up and unfastened the knot binding his forehead wrapping. Carefully, he wound the black fabric around his hand, revealing his forehead.

Ebin’s eyes traced Jinn’s Mark, feverish with curiosity. Jinn did not need to ask what he saw. He checked it in the mirror every morning, half-afraid that the old agoge tales of Outcasts losing their Mark and their abilities might come true. They had yet to take effect, if ever they were going to. The mark still stood on his forehead, the inset design of bone sharply white against the dusky near-black of his skin.

After a moment, he nodded and Jinn carefully replaced the black wrap.

“And now it is my turn,” he said. “I have temporary assignment to follow the orders of a Shinra’dor by the name of Rjon.”

Jinn’s lips tightened at the name. “Ah, you know him then! I find his familiarity somewhat off-putting, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Is that another question?” Jinn asked, guarding his expression more carefully.

Ebin laughed. “Ah, no. You pick up the rules too quickly. No, that is not my second question. Let me finish the first answer. I currently take orders from Rjon, but I do not normally work in this city. My true master is a human sometimes called The Knife, and sometimes known as Mack.”

Startled, Jinn asked, “You work for a human?”

“Is that another question?” he parroted.

Jinn scowled and Ebin continued.

“I do not know the name of Mack’s master, but I know it to be a Seraph in the skycity of Bespin.”

A Seraph? Jinn didn’t bother concealing his amazement. A Shinra’ere working for a human was strange enough – anything involving the powerful and elusive Seraph was bad business. Very bad business, indeed.

17. Chase

Jul 15, 2010

Jinn ducked into a side alley and pressed himself into the shadow of an overhang. Leaning against the sun-warmed wall, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

Sweat dampened his black wrappings and exhaustion slowed his footsteps.

He sucked in a deep breath and began the control exercises that he’d been taught from the moment his skin began to darken and the Mark became clear – from the moment he’d been identified as Shinra’ere.

Counting backward, he visualized each inhale of breath filling his muscles like water into a glass jar. Every exhale emptied and relaxed the muscles, washing away the debris of exhaustion like grains of sand.

He was accustomed to fasts from his time in the agoge. His teachers monitored his ability to withstand the pangs of hunger. Weak children, those unable to control their reactions, were mercilessly culled from the group.

The stress of this situation with remora and the dresl, the lack of sleep, his worry for his brother – these weighed on him more heavily than anticipated. He would have to be more careful.

The familiar exercises relaxed his body and weakened his throbbing hunger.

Jinn opened his eyes, only to find a familiar pair of green eyes laughing at him no more than a finger’s distance from his own. He gasped and the cat dresl leapt back, landing in the mouth of the alley. The sun glanced off the two decorative notches in one of his ears, and his black rosettes gleamed.

The cat was unmistakable; this was the dresl who had knifed him!

Jinn darted after the dresl, but he was too slow. The dresl leapt upward, finding purchase on a jutting gargoyle and swinging himself to the roof of the building.

Safely at his perch, he grinned down at Jinn showed a single hand, middle finger raised in a universal gesture.

Jinn gave chase.

Jinn found his way to the roof by way of a striped awning and the cat leaped to the ground and darted across the street. Street to alley, roof to roadway, they danced. Jinn’s thighs burned and his calves were twin knots of stone.

He was a fighter, not a runner. This sort of high speed chase, he was not prepared for even in the best of times. Against an average cat dresl, he might have stood a chance. This cat dresl was clearly military trained. It took all his skill simply to keep the target in sight.

The notch-eared cat finally ran to ground, entering a low building at the end of a street. Jinn followed.

Inside, he stopped in the darkness, listening. His own breath sounded loud in the silence, deep and labored. The sound of the cat’s own heavy breathing hissed somewhere nearby. He’d only just located the sound – from above? – When the heavy clang of metal behind him sounded, followed by the unmistakable sound of a key in a lock.

Jinn whirled and tested the door. Locked! A trap!

He looked up, eyes searching for some sign that the cat dresl was nearby, or perhaps had found some other exit. The harsh whisper of a match sounded from above, followed by the hiss of flame. As the tiny flame bent itself to the glass chamber of an oil lantern, a feeble circle of light revealed his companion. No. Not one. Two. The cat and one other – a white-wrapped Shinra’ere.

The Shinra warrior crouched on a thin lattice of crossed metal overhead, peering at him.

“So,” he said, “this is the infamous Jinn, he of no clan. I must admit to being unimpressed; you were ridiculously easy to trap. I am Ebin, of the Clan of Mogue. You and I, we have many things to discuss.”