Serial Saturday: "Clan of Outcasts" Season 3, Part 5

Part 5

"Family Matters"

Twenty Years Ago....

The sun had not yet risen, but the eerie green glow of her shadow-vision helped her navigate the house without running into things. She needed to be gone before anyone in the family awoke. The dark-clothed young girl covered her magenta-colored hair with a black cowl, and checked to make sure she’d left nothing behind.
Next it was onto the kitchen, where she slipped into the larder and lifted one of the cheese wheels, along with a loaf of bread. A jug of cider wouldn’t be missed. She slid herself in the narrow space between door and lintel.

A metal claw reached out from the shadows and grabbed her arm.
“Take me with you!”
The girl bit back a scream as the cheese plopped out of her arms and rolled across the floor.
“Plague take you, Markus!” she swore under her breath. “What are you doing there?”
The lanky form of a young man shifted into view with a creaking thud. He was more or less normal-looking: shaggy hair, keen eyes, sharp features, standing half a head taller than her. The only difference was that the whole left side of his body, from his shoulder to his sole, was made of metal, constructed special by a friend of his father’s.
Markus tapped the left side of his head. “Motion detected,” he murmured, mimicking the voice implanted there. “The real question is, what are you doing, Denni?”
She sighed, trying her best not to let her eyes focus too closely on what they called his prosthetics. They functioned more or less like the real thing—although with so many tiny moving parts, and unexplained machinery, that they were about as much of a Gift as her own Sight.
“I told the family at dinner,” she muttered. “I’ve got a job in The Citadel.”
Markus followed her out of the kitchen, and up the back stairwell to the roof, high amid the skyline of the twinkling, glittering city below. At least if she was going to have him clunking around after her with his one metal foot, he could do it out where it wouldn’t wake the rest of the family.
“But I thought Dad offered to take you!” Markus protested. “You were going to leave after breakfast.”
Denni pursed her lips and blinked until she could see the contents of the row of bins lining the rooftop in an array of deep hues. She plunged her hand into the wheat berries until she connected with a weighty leather purse in there. “I can’t wait till then,” she said, pulling it out. “Gotta leave now.”
Markus gasped, and something in his mechanical side gave a whizzing sound. “You’re stealing?” he dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper.
Denni snorted. “No, you goober; this one’s mine. I needed to save up enough money to make it to the—“ She stopped talking just short of telling him where it was. She’d been sworn to secrecy by the contact that got her this position, and she could not jeopardize it.
Markus was too quick for his own good. “Where are you really going?” His eyes followed her as she opened the panel in the wall where she kept her weapons: two burnished pistols in twin holsters. Whatever this was, it was more serious than just a job. "Come on, Denni..." He reached out his right hand--the normal one--and tugged her shoulder. "Denahlia," Markus used her full name, something he only did in the most serious and personal moments between them. "Please don't keep secrets from me," he begged. "What is this really about?"
Denahlia sighed, thumbing the pistol butts resting snugly against her hips. "If I tell you," she said in a low voice, unwilling to meet his gaze, "you've got to promise not to tell Uncle Feston and Aunt Winda."
Markus frowned. "Mom and Dad? Why can't they know?"
"Promise, Mark!"
"Okay, fine!" Markus felt the twinge in his robotic hip that said he needed to sit. He backed up to a cask resting against the wall, and rested against it. "I promise I won't tell Mom and Dad. Now will you--"
"The job is at the palace." The words came tumbling out of her mouth, and with it, the rush of excitement and accomplishment she'd felt when the King's man first offered her the job. "The King's appointing Gifted folk, and I'm assigned to a position on his security staff." She finally looked up, her Gift-sight glowing green around her iris.
Markus rewarded her with a smile, his eyes wide in astonishment. "You're going to be a spy?" he gasped.
She held up a finger. "Remember, not a word!"

Markus nodded, and sat, his mind whirling as he processed the information she'd just entrusted to him. His own cousin, going to work for the King in the realm of espionage--he hadn't thought of it, but her Gift certainly did seem well-suited to the line of work, especially when she could see people moving from miles away using her "rainbow" sight. He looked down at his hands resting on his lap: one strong, calloused, and covered in skin, and the other spindly, metallic, and constantly adjusting and balancing to maintain optimal performance for whatever he needed. The fingers themselves could adjust in size and shape to be any kind of tool, and there were many other added features besides. Could something like that be useful to the King? Markus lifted his head, seeing the edge of Denahlia's cape as she dropped down to the scaffolding attached to the side of the building. He stood. Her name was on the tip of his tongue. Take me with you! He wanted to say.

No. Stay. Said the Other Voice in his head, the one that encouraged rationality from time to time. Think of Harrison. Markus subconsciously obeyed, his mind returning to the events of earlier that day, when his friend casually mentioned a "festival of talents" he would be attending the following week, in a village just beyond Zapheira. "There are these people," Harrison had been saying, "whose abilities defy reason! Ones who can lift things without touching them, or produce snow out of thin air--you have to see it to believe it!" You believe it already, said the Other Voice, following his thoughts and fitting seamlessly within them. Your cousin has such Gifts, so you know they exist... but what potential do they hold for humanity? Are they really so harmless if the King is drafting Gifted people for his own protection?

Markus shook his head. Denahlia's glowing eyes was one thing--but he'd go and see what the fuss was in Zapheira, and decide for himself.
>>>>>>>>>

Denahlia crossed her arms and stared across the desk at her cousin. He'd grown, she saw that at once. Compared to the last time she saw him, he now stood head-and-shoulders over her, his muscles had bulked up considerably, and his face now sported a patch of stubble on his chin. On his mechanical side, she saw smooth casings covering what was once naked joints and pistons. He had a few more scars on his flesh side, but the twinkle in his eye was bright as ever.
Markus coughed, running his fingers over the angry red welts her shocking touch had left on his neck. "Nice upgrade, cousin."

Denahlia squinted, as her implant fruitlessly scanned for any information on her cousin since the time she left the Firron farm. She nodded toward the plating on his arm and leg. "I see you've upgraded too." She flicked aside the holding records just coming in on her desk surface. "And you have a dragon?"
Markus smiled. "Her name's Hadrian, and I'll thank your men to deal gently with her. She's due to lay an egg any time."
Denahlia planted her hands flat on the desk. "What in The Realm are you doing with a dragon?"
The young cyborg shrugged, stretching his flesh limbs out to their full length, working the kinks out of his natural muscles. "Picked her up while looking for a job a while back. Some rather ugly fellows seemed to think that she belonged to them after I found her almost crushed under a wall that had collapsed." He shrugged.
Denahlia raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Let me guess," she said. "You stole her out of pity?"
Markus let out a snort. "I prefer the term liberated, but yes--and she's followed me around ever since." He clasped his hands in front of him, interlacing his prosthetic fingers with the flesh-and-bone ones. "We're kind of a package deal in the business."
SEARCH: NO RESULTS FOUND flickered up at her from the surface of the desk. Denahlia sat stiff. "What business would that be?"
A teasing smile played at the corners of his lips. "Oh, a bit of this and a bit of that--I'm pretty much a jack of all trades..."
"Dammit, Markus!" Denahlia let her head land in her palm as she tried to maintain her professional composure in the face of his cocksure dodging. "Why are you here, in the Realm? Why did your dragon show up and start attacking my men?"
Markus spread his hands. "You'll have to forgive Hadrian--she hasn't been in civilized society very much, she's not sure but that every human who isn't me is trying to attack her. I promise, once she's back in my possession I'll do what I must to ensure that she's on her best behavior." He paused after the statement and sat back as if he was finished speaking.
Denahlia flicked through some alerts coming in based on the refined image searches for anyone with a metal arm matching Markus' description--this, at least, was yielding some results, none of which brought her much consolation at all. "You still haven't said what you're doing--"
"I'm here on business," Markus interrupted her.
Ah-ha! Denahlia tapped on a message from a reputable source and twisted her fingers, flipping it around and flicking it toward Markus. "Black market business?" She accused.
A scowl flickered across his face, but Markus waved his hand in a nonchalant gesture. "I seem to recall hearing about a certain Hunter who hired herself out to the highest bidder, without caring which side of the law she landed on," he hinted loftily. "Anyways, my reasons for being here have nothing to do with you personally, cousin... I just thought that whoever was in charge might want to know about the rumors I've picked up."
Denahlia appraised her cousin, drumming her fingers on the desktop--which was a preprogrammed signal to cue the secret recording device embedded in the surface. "What kind of rumors?" she prompted.

Markus leaned forward, keeping his voice low. "Rumors about a vast treasure trove locked up behind a gate somewhere, and there's a reward out for whoever can find the Key to it."
"A gate?" Denahlia's suspicions heightened. What kind of self-respecting treasure-hoarder would lock up their wealth behind a mere gate?

"That part wasn't as interesting to me; you'd get it if you were a sailor--the fabled Lost Gate is something of legends, said to only be accessed on an island with a cove that's wrecked many a vessel. I have no idea what this treasure might be, but the Key is supposedly somewhere here in this Realm, and there are a lot of unsavory types looking for it."
"Like yourself?"

"Ouch!" Markus placed a hand over his heart. "Lady Sharp-Tongue hath cut me to the quick! No, cousin, I didn't come to find the key, just to pass the information on to the nearest authority figure."
"And your dragon?" Denahlia pressed.

Right on cue, a terrible screech cut through the air, and she heard many voices shouting from the vicinity of the holding cells. Markus leaped to his feet in alarm.
"Hadrian!" He cried. "Something's happened!"
"Dragon on the loose!" The cry rang out as the sirens started up, and the alarm system bathed Denahlia's office in a flurry of flashing lights.

"Your pet has escaped, that's what!" The Harbor Watch seethed, storming out the door. "So help me, if that dragon does any more damage--"
"Don't hurt her!" Markus caught her shoulder, just the way he did all those years ago. This time, she looked up into his face, and caught the genuine concern in his eyes. "Please, let me talk her down. I promise she'll listen to me."
Denahlia sighed, but she nodded to him, stepping out of the way so Markus could exit first.

Markus stood on the ledge overlooking the street, where Hadrian flapped and floundered in agitation, while the soldiers below pointed sharp javelins and spears in her direction, desirous to quell her erratic movements without entering striking range themselves.
Hadrian shrieked and spat fire at whoever came closest to her. Markus let out a sharp whistle, and the narrow head came up, while her wings folded in. Markus whistled again, a different sound, and Hadrian responded, sweeping into the air with a flap of her wings, and coming to land right beside her master.
Markus stroked the dragon's pointed, narrow head. "Shh, I'm here, girl. You don't have to be afraid of the big scary weapons."

Hadrian didn't seem to register his comfort. The spines along her back remained elevated, and she held a sustained growl. Ducking away from Markus' touch, she darted her head toward him and grabbed a mouthful of his jerkin. The dragon jerked so hard that it nearly sent Markus tumbling off his feet. "Argh! What is it, Hadrian? Settle, girl! Settle!"
Denahlia flinched away when Hadrian unfurled her wings and took to the sky again, still dive-bombing to nip at Markus' clothes, and shrieking as she did.
Denahlia sighed. "I guess you'd better figure out what she wants," she observed.
Markus put up his robotic arm to shield himself. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into her!" he said. "I promise I'll stay within pinging range, or I'll let you know when I leave the area. I need to keep an eye on her, though."
Denahlia waved her hand. "Fine, go chase down your dragon."

Markus signaled Hadrian, and the dragon took off into the sky, keeping Markus in her line of sight. "By the way," he remarked, dusting off his jerkin and straightening his clothes. "There's something else I picked up on the black market channels that I thought you ought to know about."
Hadrian chose that moment to resume her swooping attacks, and Denahlia fought the urge to just reach out and zap the creature. "Yes?" She tried to maintain contact with Markus. "What else is there?"

Markus joined her in trying to push the dragon away, but she would only back off when he started moving away from Denahlia. "I didn't get a chance to look into it before it disappeared from the message boards," he said, "but it was definitely a request for an assassin, and the target was definitely someone at the White Castle. And it was going to happen sometime in the next three days."

Denahlia's mind reeled at the idea, but Hadrian seemed to think that her urgent issue was more important than whatever the humans were talking about. "Who's trying to assassinate someone at the White Castle?" she demanded, clambering after Markus as he followed Hadrian's lead. "Which of the royals is in danger?"

She spoke the question as she watched him round a corner, but by the time she reached the same spot, Markus was long gone.

Denahlia growled in frustration. She ignored the prison captain hotly complaining about the damage to his cells, and tapped her fingertips against her thumb. A glowing holographic window appeared above her wrist, and she used a series of hand signals to compose a message for Edri, the Captain of the Royal Guard: "Warning: Assassination attempt imminent. Set garrison on full alert."

She marched back to her office to see about activating her own security measures for the area. So much for family reunions! she thought to herself.
>>>>>>>>>

Captain Edri leaned her forehead against the hilt of her sword. She would not cry this time. Her chin wobbled very little. She raised her eyes to the small statue that served as his grave marker. His name had been etched into the stone slab underneath it: Sir Justin the Brave. A few errant tears slid past her willpower and beaded at her cheeks.
"How much longer until it gets easier?" she choked.

She heard someone calling for the captain, and quick footsteps gave her only moments to wipe away the tears and turn away from her weekly ritual before the courier arrived.

Still, the moment he saw her, his instincts betrayed him, and he stumbled backward a step. "Oh, Captain--I don't mean to intrude..."
Edri shook her head, forcing her lips into a smile. "What is it?" she asked.

The courier bowed, showing her a slip of paper with some writing on it--part of Denahlia's strange messaging system she'd installed in one of the watchtowers, to transmit messages quickly from one side of the kingdom to another. "Urgent message from the Harbor, Captain. Something about castle security."
Edri snatched the paper from him, scanning the message. Curses! Why was Denahlia so vague when the life of one of the royals was at stake?
“Thank you.” She waved to dismiss the courier.

Once he left, Edri made her way out to the parade grounds. The soldiers were divided into small groups, some running through marching drills, some sparring against dummies of straw and wood, and others—

Edri’s ears caught the sounds of shouting, and her keen lion’s nose smelled blood. Her eyes narrowed on a corner of the grounds where a group the size of about half the regiment stood with their backs to her.
Edri approached close enough to see what engrossed their attention. One by one, the soldiers noticed her coming and snapped awkwardly to attention, till only a handful remained, and she had a full view of their victim: his white hair had streaks of mud and blood plastered all over it, and his face was a mass of cuts and bruises. Most distinctive of all were the pauldrons on his shoulders, sculpted in the shape of lions’ heads.

It was all Edri could do to stop from transforming into a lion then and there, as she stomped across the parade ground. She didn't doubt that these men who served the castle were brave and strong--it's just that sometimes they were incredibly stupid and arrogant enough to fight each other when there wasn't an enemy to pulverize.

“That’s enough!” She ordered, but the man with his hands around the victim’s throat kept punching.
Edri advanced closer. “I said stop! That’s an order, soldier!” She used her most thunderous voice, but the enraged man continued to ignore her. The lion within her roared at the insubordination, and Edri let those instincts take over. She had sworn that she wouldn't stand by and watch another innocent person die, and she would need more than just strength of conviction to see that through.
>>>>>>>>>>>

Down in the library, on the other side of the castle, Aurelle had been up pacing since dawn. Kaidan knew better than to demand an answer from her right away, since she was only ever like this for a short period of time--but after so many hours of listening to her steady footsteps as he was trying to make sense of the accounts before him (was there a kingdom outside the Realm inhabited by giants or weren't there? Was there such a place as Gybralltyr, the City of Abnormals, or not?) he had finally reached the end of his patience.

He turned to face her, watching the white-haired Archivist double over and moan in pain. His frustration evaporated and he lunged forward. "What happened?" He asked. "Shall I fetch Lady Erlis?"

Aurelle shook her head soundlessly. She raised her trembling hands, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles stood out whitely against her skin. "No... I can't--it's just..." She raised her eyes and breathed a solitary word. "Help."

Kaidan braced himself for what he might see in her mind, and reached out to touch her hand. Skin contacted skin, and Kaidan let out a yell as the sheer chaos enveloping his own mind screamed out at him from all five senses at once. He fell backward as Aurelle released the pressure of Illusions through her hands.

This was no mere innocent scene of dancing forest animals, though. Kaidan stayed on the ground where he was as the blue, glowing illusion expanded larger, taking up all the empty space and then some in the room, the top of it pushing toward the vaulted ceilings while the span of it reached either wall of the vast room. Kaidan could hear the creak of the wood and the slosh of water as he watched a single ship seem to steer straight for the door of the library. As soon as the rudder passed the threshold, the whole thing disappeared.

Aurelle slumped against the armchair behind her, as Kaidan stared at her, aghast.

"What the blazes was that?" he demanded in a hoarse tone.

Aurelle wagged her head, her pale locks dangling limply from her scalp. "I don't know," she said faintly. "But I have a feeling it wasn't a metaphor."

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