The Human Experience

Ten-Quarter P, day 18, 3417.

The head-cage is the ultimate punishment for Helms with unruly tongues or negative thoughts. I’ve seen Orcadis sentence pupils to a few days, a week, or even a quarter wearing the head-cage. I’ve never heard of someone wearing it for a whole T-turn. Until Kaed.

It looks like one of those ancient combat helms with a visor, mufflers over the ears, and a wide, grilled metal band over the mouth. The point is to minimize a person’s sensory experience so that they cannot interact with the world’s negativity. Time wearing the cage is meant to be a meditation of sorts, a cleansing of the darkness within one’s mind.

Speaking while wearing the cage is prohibited, and nobody is to interact with the condemned for any reason. It must be worn at all times throughout the day, but in the nighttime, in the privacy of one’s chambers, one can remove it for bathing, eating, and sleeping.

Orcadis says the head-cage calmed Kaed down. But anyone who spent a little time with the boy would know it didn’t just ‘calm him down’: it downright broke him.

Lukhra was arid and barren in the dry season, and if not for their Voices’ ability to direct them to water, the rather eclectic group would have long been done for. Tonight they’d found a single tree in an ocean of grassland and made camp beneath it. Hector took first watch, perched on a gnarled bough with his bow resting on his thighs as he squinted into the darkening horizon. The horses were tethered some hundred yards off near a river. Zorion would have slept by the bank near them, if not for Avalyn’s insistence that flatland cats were prowling about.

Something rustled below and Hector instinctively tensed. He relaxed when he identified the source – just Avalyn scouring through her satchel. She pulled out her water vat, sniffed at it gingerly, and rose from her sleeping bag. “Zoriiionn,” she moaned, nudging him awake with her foot. “This smells. Would you boil it?”

“By the Quintet, Ava, make a fire now? And you were worried about flatland cats, were you? It’s fine, I boiled the last batch myself.”

Boiled it, sieved out rocks and dirt through his shirt, and purified it with iodine purchased at the last town. Still tasted vaguely of piss, though, and Avalyn never failed to remind them.

She looked to Hector up in the tree, twisting her rope of blonde hair on her shoulder. “Hector will protect us, won’t you?”

“I’d rather not have to,” he said flatly.

She giggled. “I’m riding with you tomorrow, right, Hector?”

“I thought it was Syfer’s turn to take you.”

“No!” Ava stole a glance at Syfer’s huddled form in his sleeping bag and lowered her voice. “I’m tired of hearing Prince Cripple’s complaints about me not knowing how to ride. He’s dull and horrible. I’m riding with you.”

Hector bit back a sigh. His abdomen still ached from his last ride with Avalyn. She was afraid of horses, she said, but Zorion and Kaed never got squeezed around the waist like he did. Last time she’d nestled her head between his shoulder-blades to rest, because Zorion had snored the night before and conveniently kept her up.

“Don’t spray my horse with perfume again,” he said. “I still stink of island peach.”

She giggled again, like he’d said it for her amusement. “Hector, stop teasing!”

He cringed at the insinuation. This wasn’t a flirtatious getaway. What the fuck had made her think he was interested? Sure, she was pretty, but Del would call it constructed beauty – the kind every woman could fake with the right make-up and clothes. And every time she played helpless female he’d hear Del snort in his mind, see her cocked eyebrow. Really? she’d challenge, when certain urges had him seeing Ava’s flaws more forgivingly. They called you an animal at the asylum. I saved your life and you ditched me in Inaultis. At least respect me enough to betray me with someone you actually like.

Hector gave Avalyn an impassive look, but she flipped her hair back and climbed into her sleeping bag still smiling.

He plucked the bowstring and listened to its low hum, the vibration passing through the bow’s soft yew into his fingertips. Avalyn wasn’t just an easy fuck, he reminded himself, remembering what Solmay had told him the last time he’d reported to her. She’d caught up to the party quickly and was now tailing them a few miles behind with the use of Hector’s tracker. It was getting harder finding excuses to backtrack and meet her. Nobody had questioned him yet when he told them he was riding back to make sure they weren’t being followed. Once he’d intentionally forgotten his satchel at an inn and returned for it later, so he could vary the story a little. Still, could their Voices know the truth?

A few nights ago the report hadn’t been one-sided. Solmay had carried a message from Delia, warning him of a spy Jesreal sent to keep him from reaching the Exodus’s destination.

Now, Solmay could have been lying. Maybe Orcadis didn’t want him getting too close to the Infected, wanted him ever diligent and wary. But maybe, just maybe, a traitor besides Hector lurked in their midst.

And here was Avalyn, just too stupid, too innocent. It almost wasn’t believable. She’d latched onto Hector from the beginning. She barely let him out of her sight. Was it his innate charm? Somehow he didn’t think so.

Of course, a good detective never overlooked anyone, even when one suspect reeked of peach-scented misgivings. Hector watched Syfer closely, too. And Zorion...well, he just couldn’t bring himself to believe it was Zorion. But that was exactly why Zorion couldn’t be overlooked.

Hector glanced down and caught Kaed watching Ava as well, his eyes glowing like a cat’s. He remembered what the boy had proposed when he’d told him about Solmay’s information.

The spacecraft this chirurgeon is building, he’d said, what if it’ll be used to blow up the Amaris moon? What if that’s what will take off on the eve of Alignment?

Having traversed the entire Lukhrese province, Hector and the Infected found themselves straddling the Akkútian border, their tents pitched just a few leagues from Rakkhat’s city gates.

Rakkhat: golden capital of the east, Akkút’s crown jewel. And Orcadis’s embarrassment. Hector had never known why he’d turned his back on his heritage. All Orcadis would say was that the Akkútians were barbarians. He’d say there was no room for innovation in their culture.

Hector stared through the midnight-blue canvas of his tent, watching the dark forms move around the camp on the other side. They’d joined a caravan some days ago, when the terrain had grown too sandy for horses. Tonight the travellers roamed from campfire to campfire, sharing meals of braised meat and honey wine and drunkenly singing old bard tales.

The tent’s flap fluttered and Kaed entered with his pyjamas tucked under his arm. He settled cross-legged in the corner opposite Hector, hugging his skinny purple-jeaned knees to his chest. Despite the sticky desert heat, he wouldn’t wear shorts – not since Avalyn had remarked on his scrawny and rather hairless legs. “Someone puked in my tent,” he said, no affect whatsoever to his voice. “I’d sleep outside, but I think the mosquitoes already drained a quart of my blood.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” Hector invited. Part of him felt touched that Kaed would choose his company over the others’, kidnapping notwithstanding. Zorion, for instance, always made efforts to include Kaed in group discussions.

“Zorion’s pity is more than I can handle,” Kaed said bitterly. “It’s like I’m back in preschool and he’s the teacher forcing the other kids to play with me. I don’t want to play with the other damned kids. I want to be alone.”

Hector grinned, turning again to the shadows swelling and yawning against the canvas walls. Why did he like this sulking kid so damned much? The boy hardly made sense. For one, Kaed openly admitted to hating him, but sought his company at the same time.

He doesn’t hate you, Hector’s Voice said. He hates Lykus. Trust me, he knows the difference. Even if he calls you by the same name.

Did his Voice tell you that? Hector wondered.

No.

Then how do you know, parasite?

It’s just obvious! I can’t believe I can already read people better than you can.

Annoyance forked through Hector like lightning. It was time to shun the parasite; he’d let himself interact with it for too long. But he itched with another question – just one last question before he beat the Voice back to the cobwebbed crevices of his subconscious.

What does Kaed’s Voice say? Whose identity has it taken? His mother’s?

The Voice hesitated. It...it doesn’t speak to the others. But it’s angry. I feel its anger.

Hector frowned. He turned to Kaed and found the boy looking at him darkly, his pale eyes accusing. “I’m right here if you have something to ask me,” he said.

“Alright, then.” Hector shrugged, realizing that every question that popped into his head would reach Kaed anyways. Damned Priers. “What happened, Kaed? When I left the Keep you were an obedient ass-kisser who’d do back flips for a smile from your father. I came back to find that every Helm shuns you and Orcadis had to put a metal cage over your head to shut you up.”

If Kaed was offended by how Hector had phrased the problem, he didn’t show it. The boy gave a rueful half-smile. “When you disappeared, I was so happy. I thought I could finally be his son. I thought the wedge between us was gone.” He shook his head, waves flopping around his ears. “Nothing changed. So I snapped. I became like you – a troublemaker.”

“For attention?”

“I don’t know. I suppose.”

He didn’t offer any more than that, and Hector let the subject drop, realizing he’d already gotten Kaed to divulge more than his reticent nature was comfortable with. They sat in silence for a moment, and then Kaed began pulling on his pyjamas.

The flap whipped aside again, this time revealing Avalyn in her crème-rose nightgown.

“Oh, fuck it,” Kaed sighed, caught in his underwear with his jeans in one hand and pyjama pants in the other. But this time Ava didn’t comment on his legs. Her gaze locked on Hector and she beamed at him, her eyes glittering. He suddenly grew conscious of being clad only in his night-pants.

“Hector, the other girls traded me some shawls of genuine Akkútian silk! Come to my tent to see.”

“Silks don’t do anything for my figure,” he said, and regretted the quip when Avalyn squealed with delight.

“No, silly! I was thinking you’d like one for, oh, I dunno...your special lady?” She looked expectantly at him, swaying slightly so the translucent satin panels of her skirt skimmed her hips. The dress was just sheer enough to expose the faintest outline of her shape, he noticed with annoyance.

Hector crossed his arms over his chest. “My girl doesn’t like silks. She likes books and beer and judging sentimental people with me.” With Lykus...

Ava’s smile became stiff. “Oh. How nice. What’s she like, Hector? Tell me what she’s like.”

“Uh, hello?” Kaed hissed, holding up his pants. “Do you mind?”

“Is she pretty? She must be really pretty, to get someone like you. Are you going to marry her, Hector?”

“Shall I pull up a chair for you so you can swap stories?” Kaed snapped. “Get the hell out!”

She clicked her tongue at him, but didn’t budge. “Yeah,” Hector said. “Yeah, I think I am going to marry her. Would’ve done it by now if she’d said yes.” He smiled, but felt his confidence waver. Marry Del? Sure, if he dragged her to the chapel kicking and screaming. “Now do you mind? My friend would like to change.”

Avalyn brushed her hair off her shoulder to give Hector a view of her swan-like neck. “Well, if you want to see the shawls, I’ll be in my tent.” She did her best suggestive smile and glided back through the flap.

Kaed had barely finished pulling on his pants when Hector’s phone rang. He reached into his rucksack for it, fumbling to answer before any of the Infected heard it. All the while Kaed mumbled about peace and quiet.

“Good evening, Lykus,” Orcadis said when his image had stabilized on the screen. He wore his signature coronet – the silver hands locked tightly around his forehead – and his golden hair had grown over his ears since they’d last met. “I trust you’re well?”

“Are you insane? What the hell are you thinking, calling me here? I told Solmay everything there is to tell.”

“I want to speak to my son,” Orcadis said. “I can’t sleep knowing he’s out there, exposed to the pestilence. Let me speak to Kaed.”

Hector glanced sideways at Kaed. The boy shook his head, so sombrely that Hector didn’t need an explanation. His answer rolled off his tongue unconsciously. “You let me speak to Delia first.”

The Fist’s eyebrows knitted together. “You’re giving me conditions?”

“No, Kaed just doesn’t want to talk to you, that’s all.”

Kaed smacked a hand to his forehead and Hector realized he wasn’t supposed to say that. Indeed, Orcadis’s features turned to stone, his jaw grinding beneath the neat beard. “Alright, Lykus. You want to talk to Delia, do you? Tell me, what do you know about Delia Alister? Do you know her favourite colour is green? Do you know she used to hear voices in her head far before the pestilence appeared, and that those voices made her kill a man once? What did you ever do for her? Did you buy her way out of a prison and cure her condition?”

“H-Have you been reading her mind?” Hector stuttered, perplexed.

Orcadis laughed. “Don’t be dense, boy. She never told you what she did before she was a mentalist, did she? Well, son, her name was Neria and she was among my most promising students at the Iron Keep. The poor girl has loved me since she was fourteen turns old. Everything she did was for me – even after she turned against me, everything became a ploy to get back at me.”

Whatever the hell Orcadis was getting at, the information seemed to bludgeon Hector’s brain into numbness. Del, an Iron Helm? Was her insight really just mind-reading, her hatred for the Helms grounded in some personal vendetta for being scorned in love? That didn’t sound like her. It sounded...like the clingy people they used to judge.

“I believe it was a group of Rathian terrorists who institutionalized you, wasn’t it? Interesting that they’d be waiting for you at the location of your last hit, when only my elite Helms had that information. Oh, wait a minute...yes, I remember now – Neria had been eavesdropping on my meeting that night. How coincidental that the next day she should disappear and you should get captured!”

“Are you trying to say that she–?”

“Orchestrated your capture? Why yes, I am. To get back at me, of course. That’s not to say she never felt any affection for you. The poor child felt horribly about getting you Infected.” The blood drained from Hector’s face, a humming filled his ears. Orcadis’s deep, resonant timbre cut through it when he continued. “Oh, did you not know? We conspired at the Keep. It wasn’t easy convincing her, but then again, I find I can convince Neria of most things.”

Hector forced down the burning lump in his throat. Orcadis never lied, never, because saying bred thinking, but even so he could only croak, “You fucking liar–”

“Oh, don’t be absurd!” Orcadis boomed. The loudness took Hector aback. “You think you can take my son away from me? Careful, Lykus, careful – you have one person left, and I swear upon the stars I will take her from you if you continue down this path. So I ask you again, do you know your precious Delia’s favourite Star-God?”

“No,” Hector said, the sound barely a whisper. “But I know your son’s. Do you?”

He ended the call, somehow not taking any satisfaction in Orcadis’s blank expression. His tongue tingled, felt unusually heavy as he turned to Kaed and forced himself to say, “It’s true, isn’t it?”

Kaed looked down.

Hector kicked free of his sleeping bag. He burst from his tent into the thick evening, the buzzing of cicadas compounding the hum in his brain. Fire built in his chest as he took long strides across the camp, not knowing where his feet were taking him until he found himself standing outside Avalyn’s tent.

There was no thinking. He ripped the flap aside. Ava stirred in her sleeping bag and propped herself on her elbows, blinking up at his silhouetted form in the doorway. A dazed smile broke across her face.

Avalyn wanted him, pure and simple. She didn’t need him for anything, didn’t want to use him against someone or take something away from him. She just wanted him for him and that was it. His heavy heart pulled him down to straddle her, made him seize her in his arms, press his lips to her warm, accepting pair, and drown himself in feeling nothing.

Trilling fifes and lutes accompanied the travellers down Rakkhat’s sandy streets. Syfer, from his throne astride the camel he’d traded his grandmother’s opal ring for, flicked coins at the street musicians they passed. It might have been a nice gesture, had his nose been a few inches lower. Hector knew he wanted to put his new subjects in their place.

“Now you stop that,” Zorion hissed when Syfer emptied his coin purse before a young ballad singer. “You’re drawing attention.”

“If the Infected behave secretively, behaving boldly should draw attention away from us,” Syfer said.

“Not when we’re all foreigners!”

“The boy has the tanned skin and light hair; he can pass for an Akkútian. And you, old man, you’re Üft. That’s close enough.”

Zorion swelled with indignation. He’d spent the better part of last week telling them how fiercely proud and autonomous the former dependencies were from the Akkútian Empire.

Syfer glared arrows at him. “And just what did your Voice call me?”

“Honey, let the boy be. Ignorance is ignorance.”

Hector drew his hood lower over his brow, burrowing his hands into his cloak pockets. At this rate it would take them all day to reach their inn. It was supposed to be across the street from the famous statue of Irhaap the Conqueror, first Akkh of the empire. The statue, according to Syfer’s Voice, was made of the silver-veined stone that could keep their Voices from feeding on their thoughts.

He stalled to listen as a panflute breathed out its quivering melody. Orcadis had played the panflute, once. He’d had a fife, too, but his hands had been too big for the delicate holes. Hector remembered him singing, his deep resonance washing through the Keep like a gentle earthquake. It was the only time he’d speak Akkútian, when he sang. Vangardian words weren’t strong enough, he said. They couldn’t capture the emotion. And in truth, his music had made even the harsh and guttural Akkútian drawl beautiful.

Hector finally understood. He let a weary smile form beneath his hood. Finally, one good thing about emotions: they made music beautiful.

“What is it, Hector? What are you thinking?”

He started, finding Ava directly behind him, all swathed in her translucent head-shawls. Everyone else had bought cotton cloaks to deflect the heat, but Avalyn wore a wrap gown of woven silk, pale blue with sheer rippling sleeves. She looked like a damned tourist.

“I’m just listening to the music. You go ahead,” he said.

Yet Avalyn lingered around him until he grew exasperated and continued past the market’s fruit and vegetable stands. In a swirl of silk she was by his side again, wriggling her fingers between his.

Hector shook his hand free, pretending to adjust his hood.

“Pick up the pace, will you?” Syfer called from ahead. “I get rashes in this heat.”

“It may improve your appearance,” Ava yelled back.

Syfer jerked his camel to a halt. “My mother’s going to mount your head on a spike outside Cloudreach Crest. Let’s see how your appearance will fare then.”

“Huh!” Ava spun to Hector, her eyes raging with blue fire to see his mouth curled in amusement. “Well?”

He swallowed his laugh. “Well, what?”

“Are you just going to take that?”

“Take what? He threatened you, not me.”

She grabbed his elbow and steered him toward Syfer, saying through gritted teeth, “Be a man and protect your lady’s honour!”

At this point Kaed, bundled in his cloak beneath a fish stand’s awning, burst into chortles. Hector had wondered where the boy had gotten off to. He felt heat climb his cheeks even in the blistering afternoon. “What the hell are you raving about?”

He shot her a warning look. She released his elbow and stepped back. “Oh, I see. I see how it is. You just use women and throw them away, is that it, Hector?”

Mortification crashed down on him. Zorion had stopped walking to look searchingly at Hector, as if he’d expected better. Syfer’s upper lip curled in disgust. Breathing heavily, Hector said, “You shouldn’t have smoked those mushrooms the caravan women offered. Now shut the hell up and get moving.”

He walked ahead of the group for the rest of the day, keeping his fists clenched by his sides in case another unwanted hand tried to wrestle its way into his. She’d said he’d used her. Used. It was one word Hector couldn’t stand.

They reached the inn well after second sunset. The temperature dropped quickly in the desert, cool wind stiffening his sweat-drenched tunic and driving shivers through his body. He didn’t follow the others into the crumbling limestone building, but made an excuse about buying dinner from the market and continued down the street.

“Hector!”

“Oh, no,” he groaned, lengthening his stride.

Avalyn jogged up to him. “So, what now? You mean to say you’re not going to tell that beer-drinking woman about us?”

“There is no–!”

“Fine, then, I’m going to tell the others what happened.” She gave a proud sniff. “Let them find out what an animal you are!”

Hector came to an abrupt halt. He turned slowly, jaw set, to glare at her. “What did you want me to do, kick Syfer off his camel because we fucked one night?”

Tears of hurt pooled in her eyes. “Why do you have to be so crass about it? Were you raised in the woods? Did the wolves and bears teach you to devalue women?”

Hector expelled a long breath, forcing his anger to be expelled with it. “Look, I’m sorry, Avalyn. I made a mistake. I never meant to devalue you or myself or anyone else, but I did. It won’t happen again. Please, understand that.” He looked at her pleadingly, feeling like she was a porcelain vase balancing precariously on some ledge, ready to topple at his first wrong word.

She shook her head, arms crossed. “It’s not that easy, Hector. You can’t just play with people’s feelings like that. No, the others have to know how insensitive you are.”

The vase shattered. Hector’s anger returned; he wouldn’t be careful picking up the pieces. “Go ahead and tell! I don’t need anyone’s approval. You’re the one who’ll look easy, anyways.”

“Not if I say you forced me.”

He grabbed her forearm, pulled her toward him until they were nose to nose, and growled, “Shall I beat you around a bit to make it look believable?”

To his irritation she smirked, her eyes flashing excitedly to have any sort of attention from him. Avalyn twisted free and smoothed out her gown. “You’re a popular man, it seems, Lykus. Now, that Solmay, she’s not bad-looking either.”

Hector felt his lips go cold. His fingers tingled by his sides as if his heart had forgotten to keep pumping blood to them. His brain buzzed, numb.

Told you you should’ve been more careful, his Voice whispered.

“So you’re reporting what we’re doing to the Helms. Worse, you’re the Iron Wolf.” She sashayed toward him, brushed his hair off his right shoulder and pressed her palm over his collarbone. “I saw the tattoo that night,” she purred. “The Iron Helms’ sigil. That’s why I followed you last time you broke away from the group. I didn’t believe it at first. The Wolf was supposed to be a heartless butcher, and you’re helpless as a puppy.” She nuzzled her head under his chin. “You must’ve been misunderstood, I thought. But I saw you talking to that woman and knew you’d sold us out to the Helms. I took a little video with my phone, to show to the others. Except I despise them, and I like you.”

Avalyn angled her face up and smiled.

He swallowed heavily. “You tell Jesreal,” he said, his voice thick, “that for her betrayal, I’m coming after her next.”

“My, my, another woman, Lykus?” Ava clicked her tongue. “I’m going to have competition. Who’s this Jesreal?”

Regaining his senses, Hector pushed Avalyn away from him. “Don’t play stupid. Tell me what you want.”

“Immunity. You can betray the others to the Helms, but whatever they plan to do to the Infected, I want to go free.”

“Deal.”

“And,” she continued, drawing forward again to fiddle with the thick leather belt fastening his cloak around his waist. “You need to tell beer-girl about us.”

Don’t! the Varali-Voice shrieked, when Hector’s arm came up in a backhand swing headed for Avalyn. The cry seemed to catch his hand, ball it into a fist at the last second and stop it mid-air. Avalyn, cringing, opened her eyes when the blow didn’t come. Hector noticed several merchants looking at him. He quickly lowered his hand.

And pulled out his phone.

Don’t pick up, don’t pick up...

But Del did. Memories of her betrayal returned, flooding him with bitterness. She looked good, damn her, dressed in simple jade robes with silver chain-links braided into her hair. She’d never worn dresses when she’d been with him. Hell, she’d hardly even worn her hair down, though she knew Hector hated that stupid washing-girl bun she made. The clamp in his stomach tightened when hope ghosted across her face.

“Hector?”

No. Anger kicked guilt’s ass. She’d had no right to dictate his life and feelings just like everyone else. Like everyone else.

Avalyn shouldered her way into the screen’s range. “Is that her, Hector? Ooh, pretty! Kind-of chunky, though, don’t you think?”

He swivelled the screen away. “I fucked up, Del. I fucked up really badly, but so did you.”

“What are you talking about? Who’s that kid and did she really just call me chunky?”

Hector lowered his voice, clutching the screen so tightly his fingers went numb. “Oh, that’s real cute. Who braided your hair – Orcadis? You two having fun pulling my strings from the Keep?” She looked startled, but it only spurred him on. “I slept with someone else. That’s all I have to say. Not pleasant being backstabbed, is it, Neria? Sorry. Go ahead, be angry.”

Del’s freckles vanished under a blossoming flush. Her expression hardened back into that stone mask he so hated, all emotion sucked from her eyes. “I’m not angry,” she said. “So you slept with someone. So what? It’s not like we were ‘official.’ I slept with other men these last six turns and I’m sure Lykus slept with other women.”

Over his shoulder, Avalyn giggled. Hector’s stomach dropped to his feet.

“You know what, that’s real cute, Hector,” Del continued. “You actually thought something that like would matter. Don’t sweat it. Don’t even bother feeling guilty. What I like about our relationship is that there’s no angst. Let’s keep it that way. Talk to you later, alright, Hector?” She hung up.

Later that evening Hector called Orcadis to request Lykus’s identity for a night.