Morn, Sir of Febla: 33 Xiven

The forest floor was not an adequate bed, but Kayin slept soundly, still. Vaguely remembering various defensive and offensive fighting forms that Liree taught him in Yatora from a handful of years ago was not the same as using the muscles, tensing at the right time, dodging when Karsarath tried to hit him, let alone being able to absorb the shock of when his new friend successfully blocked one of Kayin’s few attacks. When he noticed Karsarath’s movements, Kayin was actually quite good at dodging. But Dhekk settled into first watch in the tree above them, and, from what Kayin gathered, grew bored just watching them. To “keep Kayin on his toes” he started to throw various acorns and twigs down at them. Karsarath avoided them effortlessly, but it wasn’t so easy for Kayin.

Exhaustion and tender muscles made Kayin desperate for rest, so he slept soundly enough—but woke up ravenous. And with food rationing, eating stale jerky and whatever mushrooms and berries he found around, it didn’t quite feel like adequate energy for what was supposed to come. Though eating stopped his stomach from rumbling, it wasn’t enough. Perhaps he’d have to ask Karsarath and Dhekk to help train him in hunting so he could supplement their breakfasts.

But they moved along the road, regardless. And, just because Kayin and Karsarath weren’t actively practicing their swordplay didn’t mean Dhekk stopped throwing things at them periodically. Kayin had a fifty percent success rate so far; if it weren’t for the long sleeves of his borrowed shirt, he was certain his arms would look black and blue. It was hard not to resent Karsarath for his fast reflexes, how he could carry on conversation and duck a wayward stone without missing a beat.

The morning passed with only a few complaints. Rinesa boasted a cloudless day, proud and warm right above them. “Ichaemi must have apologized,” Dhekk muttered idly as they packed for the day’s travel. Kayin wondered if Dhekk was truly religious about this, or being sarcastic like Aunt Aayin, though didn’t ask.

“So,” started Karsarath when Rinesa was at her brightest, “there’s, um, a chance that I won’t be able to join you in Urbana.” While Kayin’s response was only a frown, Dhekk physically stopped walking, halting their progress on the dirt road. He stared, hard, at Karsarath. When he did, the broad shouldered man dropped a rock he’d been holding on the ground. Kayin scowled at it but didn’t say anything.

“You didn’t just move out of Urbana,” Dhekk said. “You got kicked out.” Somewhere in the back of Kayin’s mind, he remembered hearing something about Urbana banishing those without Cigam. Now he paused, leaving the trio in an odd line on the road.

“I never said I didn’t,” Karsarath said finally; he spun around to face Kayin and Dhekk, shrugging. “But I didn’t do anything wrong. They just kicked me out because I don’t have Cigam.”

Kayin exchanged glances with Dhekk, one brow raised.

“Is that…how it happened?” He crossed his arms over his chest, wary. “You just couldn’t conjure up any Cigam and they kicked you out, just like that?” And if that was true, why didn’t he say it was that simple before? Why bring up that he wouldn’t be welcome this close to Urbana, after a day and a half of travel, when Dhekk said they’d be arriving soon?

“Cigam,” Dhekk began, “presents itself in childhood. Turn of adulthood, the very latest in the rarest of cases for the most oblivious people with the most mundane of abilities.” He walked up to stand next to Kayin. “They would’ve noticed you didn’t have any years ago. You’re more than fully grown.” Younger than Dhekk, but much older than Kayin, with just the idea of crow’s feet growing permanently by his eyes. “You lied.”

“Yes,” said Karsarath, nodding. “That’s—kind of where it got blurry. I just kind of slid under the radar for long enough. Just told people I didn’t like to use it.” Maybe if Cigam had embarrassing side-effects, like excessive gas or projective vomiting, that would be a worthy excuse. But that wasn’t the case, as far as what was described in regular literature.

Kayin stared at the dirt as he thought aloud. “And you said your family had it—even…even your sister.” Dania’s mom, who distinctly did not use any Cigam. Karsarath nodded, even when Kayin looked as skeptical as he did.

Karsarath repeated, “My mother gave up her Cigam when she was pregnant with me.”

“Gave up…,” echoed Kayin. “You can just…get rid of it? Like a ritual or something?” It sounded far more likely that Karsarath’s mom just lied about having it in the first place. But Dhekk, the only other valid authority on Cigam, didn’t say so. Maybe Dania’s mom also gave up her Cigam.

“No,” said Dhekk. “It’s—it’s a part of you. I guess if you can identify which parts of you are tied to Cigam, and you just…reject it….” Reject genetics. The idea sounded completely absurd. Even then, why give up the power of something that could make life so much easier?

“I don’t actually know the process.” Karsarath shrugged. “But she…. Danuli said that our mother was different after I was born. Empty. And Mom said she couldn’t use Cigam if she wanted to.”

“Why? Why would she get rid of it?” Kayin asked.

“She hated who she was when she used it.” He said it so easily, like anyone would understand. Maybe Dhekk did, but Kayin was left with even more questions, shaking his head, unable to comprehend.

“What did she do that she hated so much?” Some sort of murderer? Kayin considered, for a moment, that if something inside him told him to kill others, that maybe he’d find a problem with it and reject it. Was it like that?

“She wasn’t some villain. She just wasn’t happy when she listened to it, I guess.”

“Listened to it….” It must have been frustrating for Dhekk and Karsarath to endure all of Kayin’s questions, the way he hesitated, refused to move, held up his hands to pause them from moving on.

Dhekk decided to actually add something helpful for once, though his voice didn’t sound as frustrated as Kayin anticipated: “Your stomach growls when you’re hungry, your throat gets dry when you’re thirsty. Your Cigam itches for you to do things, too.”

“Like what?”

“It’s different for everyone,” he said. Maybe Dhekk’s Cigam made him want to not answer any questions fully, Kayin thought sarcastically.

“My sister had Cigam—all while we grew up, she could bring in the spirit of Ichaemi with just a thought, change the direction of any cold wind. We thought I’d be the same, or maybe that I’d be like my late father.”

“So what did you do?” Kayin asked. “When nothing happened, when nothing presented and your sister left, what did you say?”

Karsarath hesitated, eyes darting along the tree line. “I said I was like my father, a Vinctesprit.” The word sent a cold shiver down Kayin’s spine. He tried to hide the way his eyes grew wide; Karsarath regarded him with curiosity, but didn’t pry quite yet.

“You pretended to manipulate people?” Kayin asked, a bubble of anger in his throat.

“No.” Karsarath shook his head. “Not an Omni-Vinctesprit. Just small, simple creatures. Bugs. Edia.” He gestured to the road. “You can’t fake manipulating people, but you can pretend to manipulate bugs in short bursts.” The well of emotion in Kayin’s chest simmered down a little.

“Wait, there’s—there are differences?” he stammered. And what did that mean if those people from Wakino were just regular Vinctesprits—was it because he was an idiot, that they could control him easier?

“Cigam is a spectrum,” Dhekk said quickly. “Some things are simpler than others.” For a moment, Kayin remained outside of his own mind, watching Merna and her father yell different commands at him. Sitting at a table, staying put, eating through pain. Dhekk and Karsarath were silent as Kayin burrowed into himself, frowning. How could anything be trusted, if people could change the way they looked, vanish from sight, or manipulate people whenever they wanted? And what else was there, that he didn’t even know about?

Karsarath took a small step forward as he asked, “Is…everything alright?” Despite the interrogation, the man’s voice offered a soft edge of compassion.

Kayin shrugged. “The people—when I was in Wakino, the people that found me, there was this girl and her dad, and she was practicing her Cigam on me. I guess they were Omni-Vinctesprits.” To this, Dhekk let out a “huh!”

“You managed to escape people that could literally tell you to turn around and return. That’s pretty good.” Didn’t feel that way. After saying this, Dhekk hesitated, as if remembering something. “You broke the connection when you were in pain, didn’t you?” Now, just as before, Karsarath was the one of the three with an expression of alarm.

“How’d you know?” asked Kayin.

“Because I helped carry you through the forest,” Dhekk said flatly. “And I remember your wounds. Regardless, keep that in mind for next time you get manipulated.” Next time! Dhekk wagged a finger, then started his walk again. “Those people are….” But he never finished his thought, just continued walking.

“Um,” started Kayin again as he followed, “um—Karsarath, how did you leave Urbana, exactly?”

“I promise, it’s as simple as that. One of my students did too well in a tournament, I got too much attention, and people started talking. Council called me forward, I couldn’t do what they asked, so they told me to leave, and I did.” And yet…something hung in his voice. Kayin squinted at him.

“Are they going to kill us when we get there with you?”

Karsarath snorted. “No. They just don’t like me.”

“Suppose we’ll find out for sure soon enough,” said Dhekk from ahead. He turned back, pointing through a set of trees to the very peaks of tiled roofs. “We’ll be arriving before the hour.”

“Your promise they won’t kill us?” Kayin asked in a quieter voice.

“They won’t kill you because I’m with you,” Karsarath clarified. “Whatever you do is your business. The worst thing that would happen is they turn me away and I just don’t go in.”

“Then what will you do?”

The man shrugged. “I don’t know. What are you going to do?”

“I….” Kayin hummed. “I actually don’t know. Dhekk, what are we doing, exactly?” With a few faster strides, the trio returned to walking in a line like before.

“Just chatting,” answered Dhekk. “Gunna have a nice, productive conversation with the Council of Urbana.”

“Right….” He didn’t bother trying to hide his skepticism. “And what are we going to say?”

“We aren’t saying anything.” Dhekk gestured to Kayin, then to himself. “I’ll be talking to the Council.”

“You’re going to make me wait outside?”

“No, you’ll be there, but not talking.”

“Uh…okay.” That sounded like a stretch, but Kayin let the silence take over. He’d find out what was in store for them soon enough.

The road widened, the dirt compressed to a clear pathway all the way up to two stout towers. Though Urbana didn’t seem to have any physical walls, the buildings did follow a distinct pattern and line: none went beyond these towers, and no road went beyond this point aside from the one guarded. Even at this hour, the people belonging to this city didn’t loiter at the city borders.

The buildings, mostly one or two stories tall, were made of a mixture of wood and stone, not unlike Wakino in their sizes and sturdiness. Beside each home, a few square meters of manicured vegetation: bushes, vegetables. It seemed like every home grew a miniature farm to share or to cultivate for their own purposes.

Standing at the leftmost stone tower was a tall person in a metal helmet, a pike at rest at their side.

“Halt!” the guard shouted. “State your business.” She had a deep, commanding tone that made Kayin nearly jump out of his bones. He kept silent, though, and waited for Dhekk to do whatever necessary formal statements he had prepared, and looked around. Now that they were close enough, Kayin spotted two faces on the second story of each tower, watching from up above.

“Oi!” someone shouted from the right tower. “Not that one! He’s cursed!” A pale, bony hand stuck out the window to point at them.

“Huh?” Kayin asked. “I’m not cursed!” Or…well, maybe we was. Almost everyone he met was dead, every city he’d been in so far had been involved in war—

“Not you, pipsqueak! That one!” At Karsarath’s “ugh,” Kayin realized they were pointing to their newest companion, the tall one with dark circles around his eyes. And yet, the word pipsqueak still left a sour taste in his mouth.

“How’s he cursed?” Kayin shouted back.

“Don’t bother,” muttered Karsarath. But Kayin brushed him off with a wave of his hand.

“His Cigam ran before it could present itself! Cursed, I say!” To emphasize his point, the stranger spat a massive lob of saliva out the window, toward them. Ew.

“Can you stop shouting?” Dhekk interrupted, “I’m trying to have a conversation with your superior, here!”

“Hey,” the commander said, “you can go in and do your business, but that one stays out.” She pointed. “Can’t risk his disease spreadin’ to everyone else.”

“Disease?” Kayin echoed. “It’s not a disease. I don’t have Cigam, either.”

“Yeah, but did your parents?” she shot back haughtily. Kayin couldn’t answer, and she took that to mean what she wanted. “Exactly. In you go. You stay out.”

“You go ahead,” said Karsarath, gesturing toward the road. “I’ll be fine.”

“But—” As Kayin protested, his new friend shook his head.

“Don’t worry about me. It’s going to be a nice day out. I could use some fresh air.” As if they didn’t just spend the last few days out in the air, in the smoke of a broken city not too far away, of the edges of war on the fridge of their minds.

“What will you do?” Even though Kayin wasn’t done asking questions, Dhekk nudged his arm.

“Come on, Sadoe. We have work to do.” Kayin couldn’t hide his strange look. Karsarath was a little better at hiding his surprise at Dhekk presenting false name. Perhaps a false name, and not one tied to a friend like Tae, was smart. Kayin pursed his lips. “Don’t forget what we’re here to do.”

“Y-yeah….” Kayin instead offered a wave goodbye to Karsarath, who returned it, then twisted around to head to the tree line.

To meet someone so close to what he called home, someone like Karsarath—a literal family member Kayin was promised before he could really describe what family was—felt like an inauthentic loss. He couldn’t stop and protest, because it wasn’t exactly proper. But leaving so simply felt like a bitter betrayal at the back of his tongue.

For a moment, he considered turning and joining Karsarath. They could seek refuge in Kunnu as people without Cigam, looking for shelter. Ignore this strange world of Cigam and evil emperors that targeted unknown children.

But worse than that, came a familiar shame that stemmed from a foggy dream he had not long ago. Dania—the person he sought in that dream—would shun him for such shameful disregard of what could have been a hopeful future. If he could, if that dream was a possibility in any form, he’d like to avoid disappointing Dania and her spirit.

Kayin frowned. His shoulders, heavy, burned at the weight of the backpack and rolls, ached for more than just a change of weight. There was an end to this constant confusion, this constant feeling of running away from something, and he had to see it through.

Adjusting the straps of his bag, Kayin followed Dhekk into the imaginary city lines. There weren’t many people out over here, in the light of the afternoon rays. An elderly couple sitting in wicker chairs in front of their wooden homes, a couple children running from one place to the next. It seemed like a nice enough place. Solid roads, well cared for vegetation in purposeful, designated square fence lines. Was this a choice that the people of Urbana made, to care for one another, or was this something the Council of Urbana ordained?

The people they did pass seemed well-off. Good quality clothing, not haphazardly patched together with whatever was available. Everything was cohesive, from colors to the way the fabrics of shirts flowed to trousers or skirts. Everything fit so nicely….

“So how good at lying are you?” Dhekk asked quietly. Kayin hummed uncomfortably.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, pretend like none of this is new. Whatever you see, just don’t stare. Pretend like you’ve seen something more interesting.” Odd advice, but it made sense. It was truly possible Kayin might have seen something more interesting than just walking through a neighborhood, though the ease of how each person carried themselves felt so foreign.

“Why do you say that?” Kayin asked, suspicion leaking through. Karsarath didn’t seem alarmed at Kayin’s lack of Cigam, at least.

“Because when we get into the center of town, and you see more people, you’re going to get a crash course in Cigam.” Oh! It was hard, even with Dhekk’s reminder, to hide the excitement that bubbled in Kayin’s stomach. More Cigam. More wonder, more possibility.

He wasn’t sure why it didn’t come to mind earlier. In a city full of Cigam, with physics and perception only limited by imagination, anything was possible. Now, Kayin stared, wide-eyed, searching every nook and cranny for anything he wasn’t used to.

“You know,” Dhekk continued, “like the exact opposite of what you’re doing right now.”

“Oh—”

“Stop ogling.” But how!

“Right.” Kayin relaxed the muscles in his face. Though every color felt like something purposeful; the vines growing on the homes, were those created or natural? The song that man sang by his home as he beat the dust out of his rugs, was that something he made with his own voice, or something he created with Cigam?

“Um, well, can you…explain some of it?” Kayin asked. “Like what’s going on there?” Kayin didn’t point, but he hoped it was an obvious enough question. Off the side of the road, under a pergola decorated in colorful flowers and resting in bits of shade, stood a young man with a bent piece of wood, sticking it into the ground. All around him were smooth, wooden pots and vases of various sizes.

The forest had a distinct must of aged beings waiting for the rest of the living world to catch on, but his creations buzzed with an energy Kayin couldn’t physically place anywhere other than in his blood. These pieces of art pulsated, full of life.

“Ah,” sounded Dhekk, “he’s growing trees bent in certain ways. Making vessels.”

“Gr—did you say growing trees?” He reacted physically for only a moment, covering his shock with a look of pure admiration at the craft in which this young man drew the wood forth with a bare hand. The wood took precious seconds, but grew and stretched while the man’s face hardened in concentration.

Dhekk continued, “Yes. That wood there, has roots. He’ll cut it when it’s finished growing into whatever he’s making.”

“Wow,” Kayin breathed. The fresh scent of the floor, the vibrancy of what filled his nostrils—this was because this man didn’t kill a plant to create. He created a plant, then cut it.

Dhekk pointed despite his advice to remain idle: “Oh, and in the stall beside him—looks like maybe they’re together. She’s taking the finished pieces and removing small bits to make detail work. You see her fingers there?” he gestured; the blonde woman sat on a crate with a smooth, round basket made of wood, and ran her fingers across it. Small puffs of smoke followed her fingers, staining the air with a pleasant aroma or singed pine. As she twisted the basket in her lap, Kayin eventually saw intricate designs in the wake of the smoke.

“What—so what does that make her? What’s he?” A man that could grow pots from the ground, a woman that could make them works of art with a point of her finger. Marvels beyond adoration—people that would have been worshiped as much as Tidesa was in Yatora. And with such ease, like doing an ordinary craft….

Dhekk shrugged, despite Kayin’s admiration.

“Oh. Um, I’m assuming he’s a Crestructanim, someone who can shape materials with sentience, like wood. Kind of like what I do, only I can work with high-pressure materials like metal, and not much else. That woman, she’s probably burning the designs, based on the smell. So she probably deals with heat like a Micromutaer.” Crestruct…construction, Kayin thought. Anim meant animate. Micro, small… Mutaer, change. Slowly stories of old came to mind. The heroine that saved her friends at the last moment by shaping the enemy’s wooden splint mail to crush his lungs. Perhaps, if she was a Micromutaer, she could have gradually erased her enemy’s wooden armor so that her companions could have gotten through it with ease. Or erased the stone floor beneath him, plummeting the villain to a timely death into the magma below their final battle.

Kayin nodded. The possibilities, when shut into his room as a child and reading inked words on a page, were limited. Now, he physically saw what could be. He smelled it, tasted the burnt wood on his tongue. Nothing could have made him feel more alive.

“I never got, like, a full list of what different kinds there are,” he said. In his own opinion, he did a rather wonderful job at curbing his enthusiasm. In his mind, he wanted to jump, to lunge toward the different colors and scents, to ask every question that populated his mind. How are you doing that? What does it feel like?

“I don’t know.” Dhekk’s shrug only made his heart pulsate faster. “A dozen different categories or something. Like I said before, it’s kind of a spectrum. There isn’t really a reason to put a label on it. Some are sorted together because of Xiven’s ranking.” All of the world’s possibilities, limited by words. Every imaginary thing, possible.

“What’s the most powerful one?” Kayin asked, absent-minded. Someone walked alongside an edia, and the edia didn’t run. It just stayed by her side like a companion! Unafraid, unthreatened. Loving, maybe.

“I don’t know if any one is more powerful than another….” But now Kayin’s mind ran. If that woman walked alongside an edia, did she maybe manipulate it? Or did she manipulate it just enough for it to understand she meant it no harm? Where the friends, now?

Dhekk continued, “It depends on who’s using it.” All that did was ignite the fire in Kayin’s chest.

Kayin bit his smile back until he physically drew blood from his lips. People walked, chatting, gossiping. Were they using Cigam? Were they changing their hair color? Were they trying to make themselves more friendly to their rivals, or were they pressuring the wind to push the pollen of their crops another way?

Every time they turned another street, saw another home and another set of neighbors chatting and exchanging pleasantries, Kayin had to stop himself from bursting into a million different questions.

Grinning, Kayin asked, “So I know that the lowest ranking one is…what…Pseudostimul or something. Changing one person’s view of one thing.” A dress color, the feel of a fabric.

“Like a specialized illusion, yes.”

For a full moment, while they paused to let a mother and child cross the street, Kayin closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. Something sweet made his stomach ache in a way it never had before. Not in hunger, but in longing. Kayin opened his eyes, stifling a smile.

“You don’t think that’s the weakest one?” he asked.

“Perception is everything.”

“What do you mean by that?” Kayin’s voice was distant, still chasing whatever baked pastry filled the air. Was someone using Cigam to make him more enticed for that scent, or was that natural?

“You’ll see.”

Kayin sighed at Dhekk’s response. “Helpful.” But Dhekk’s opinion didn’t mean that social standings didn’t take place. “In Xiven’s ranking, who’s the most powerful? Probably whatever he’s got?”

Dhekk shrugged. “I don’t know what Cigam Xiven has. But….” The man hesitated; the city, bright and lively and pleasant, didn’t penetrate the sarcastic skepticism he wore like a cape. “He has Chronus and Namuh of the Future up there.”

Kayin hesitated. He dropped his voice as he said, “He’s probably not pleased Tidesa isn’t on his side.”

“Probably not, if he even truly knows about her.”

Xiven knew about Tidesa’s vision, though. Perhaps this odd game of the rumor mill protected her, at least a little. That was some solace, at the very least.

Dhekk slowed a bit on a main road, behind a crowd of talkative citizens, unbothered by the happenings of the city around them. The duo passed a couple teenagers in the shadow of a tree, giggling. They were around Kayin’s age, maybe younger, staring into each other’s eyes as if nothing else existed.

For a moment, Kayin frowned. Should he have wanted to be like them, young and carefree, worrying only about his future romances? But watching the way they looked almost afraid to touch one another, the way they could hardly keep their gazes up, didn’t do much for him.

Maybe they were forced into that interaction like Kayin and Dania were.

“You said there were laws about who could marry other people,” he recalled aloud, still watching them as they paused. “But if Cigam is genetic….”

Dhekk shook his head, interrupting Kayin’s initial thoughts.

He said, “More in, you couldn’t marry someone with the same abilities as you.”

“Oh.” That made a little more sense. Aunt Aayin always said that opposites attract. She didn’t elaborate on that very much, but maybe she meant it in the way that the man creating wooden pots complemented the woman etching art onto them. Maybe that’s what that meant.

Kayin eventually turned away from the teenagers.

“Were you ever married?” he wondered aloud.

“Once.” A hesitant, definitive answer. It could have been a whisper in the wind, a creak of a stool being stood upon. But Dhekk stared at the line of citizens ahead of them too hard to have not answered a question he didn’t anticipate.

Kayin opted to press onward: “Is that how you met Tidesa?”

“Through our spouses,” said Dhekk even faster.

“Tidesa’s married?” Even though Kayin attempted to ask his question in a way that would be difficult to ignore, Dhekk still took his time.

The man’s face fell, went through the motion of fully perking itself into a stoic position, muscle by muscle, until he finally said, “She was.”