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UNCOMFORTABLE TRUTHS
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SAVARA CROSSED THE shadows and stepped into the light, noticing the heated stares from Griffin and his companions on her skin. She’d been listening in on the conversation as much as she could, but from Griffin’s stifled surprise, she could tell that it wasn’t meant for her ears.
“Fine,” she replied as she bit her lip. “I’m sorry for interrupting... I can come back later if you’d like.”
“No.” He forced a half-smile that looked too stiff to be earnest. “We were just about done anyway,” he added with a glance at his companions.
“Brass told me you wanted to see me?”
Griffin wasn’t the only one that made her nervous. Neither of the voices she’d heard before sounded particularly inclined to friendliness, and if there was a war to be had between them, the last place she wanted to be was caught in the middle.
“Yes. Please, come in.” Griffin raised his hand slowly, and in turn, the lights in the room came to life.
She caught the gasp in her throat as she remembered Brass’ words: Keep a low profile, but there it was again, the rush, the electricity in the air, that feeling of magic. The hairs on her arms stood up. Savara wondered whether they could all feel it as she did, if they had simply grown accustomed to the sensation, or if her time in the other world had made her more sensitive to it. Like a sobered alcoholic drinking after many years of abstinence, the sensation was intoxicating... dangerously so.
It didn’t take her long to realise that the room contained no lamps, candles, torches, or light-emitting devices of any kind. Only glowing orbs hovering around it that seemed to brighten like little suns and dim into extinction. The gentle blue glow that cascaded over everything reminded Savara of the times she’d spent snorkelling by the reef, but the three sombre-looking figures at the centre of the room reminded her less of the playful turtles she’d swam with and more like the expectant, predatory barracuda.
The light shifted hues. The watery blue faded into a soft turquoise before settling on a relatively cold white. Shadows bounced around in the darkness, and under the new light, she recognised the calculating glint in Griffin’s eyes. The feeling of being caught in a lion’s den nagged at her again as it slowly dawned on her that, whatever these orbs were, they came from him. It didn’t take her long after to realise that he was one of those people her uncle had cautioned against in his stories, the ones who stole light. She hoped the slight upward curve in his lip meant he was happy to see her, but something told her it may have just been a calculated charm.
In the newly illuminated room, her eyes caught the figures of the two voices she’d heard earlier. Savara would’ve hardly believed that the rather petite woman with a whip-like braid of deep red hair could have brandished the threats she did if it weren’t for her piercing glare now. Her narrowed eyes, rimmed to a catlike point with charcoal, irises a storm-cloud grey, looked as sharp as the blade at her side—and equally as deadly.
Savara didn’t need to feel the strange attacking energy to know the woman distrusted her; the woman’s gaze said it all. Her hand closed tentatively over the hilt of her sword, and Savara was almost sure the woman was about to launch into an attack when she spied Griffin’s hand moving to stop her. He might have stayed her hand, but he didn’t take the glower from her face.
Savara shifted her gaze over to the final companion, having to raise her chin slightly to meet his eyes.
He was taller, much taller than the woman. A mostly well-groomed sort of man with curling blond locks that fell just above his shoulders and a matching beard. Amber eyes glowed against sandy skin, reminding her of a bronzed Viking—and only slightly better dressed. He stood proudly, crossing his muscled arms over his broad chest, playfully aware of his own good looks. Warmth emanated from him like that from a fire, but Savara knew better than anyone that there were two kinds of fire: the one that crackled merrily on a cold winter’s day, and the one that wiped out forests. His amber eyes consumed her as though she were kindling feeding his fire.
“Storm, Jakaus,” said Griffin, dismissing them both.
“But it looks like the party’s just getting started,” said the Viking with a not-so-casual curl to his lips. A new warmth prickled over her skin. The temperature of the room raised, hardly noticeable, but Savara sensed more than most. He was playing at the border of the two types of fires, she just couldn’t tell which side he stood on.
“Out,” commanded Griffin, leaving no room for debate on the matter.
The two people bowed to him and made for the door. The woman left without so much as an acknowledgement of Savara’s presence, while the man made a point of stopping before her.
“We’ll be seeing each other again...” he said as he placed a light kiss on her hand. “...soon,” he added with a wink, dipping his head to her as he left. She regarded her hand hesitantly. The feeling of his lips on her skin made her think again about the kinds of fire she’d experienced in her lifetime, finally reaching a single conclusion: Fire is fire, whether it warms you in the winter or burns down the woods, both leave ash in their wake.
Her eyes followed the two of them out of the tent where she caught a glimpse of them whispering heatedly to each other before the heavy mesh dragged itself shut. She could’ve sworn that they’d both looked back at her in the last instant.
“Please, sit,” Griffin called to her from below.
The same feeling that had beckoned her inside called to her now. Savara descended the trailing staircase with stiff, hesitant steps, avoiding his gaze but keeping him in sight. He’d traded the cloak for a long-sleeved leather tunic, the scar on his chin in full view. I am not leaving without my answers, she told herself, muting the expressions on her face while her hands trembled behind her back.
Savara settled into a stiff, old armchair that used to belong to someone much bigger than her while Griffin pulled up a wooden chair in front of her, supporting his arm on its back as he stood studying her curiously. She hid the red fluster that crept into her cheeks behind a curtain of hair as she turned to the glittering dagger. If she listened closely, she could almost hear it whisper, gentle and soft, like the final sounds of a lullaby.
“Water?” he asked, holding the glass out in front of her before she could ask what the weapon was or where he’d managed to find it. The sounds disappeared as she turned to face him, but the eerie sense that it was more than a dagger had settled into her bones.
Savara nodded, taking a firm hold of the glass. The water flowed like silk over her sandpaper lips. Not even the purest spring water back home could compare. She finished it in one go with her eyes closed, weak to the taste, down to the last drop. When she opened her eyes again, she found him still taking her in from beyond the rim.
“More?” Griffin offered her the pitcher.
Too embarrassed to answer, Savara shook her head.
“I owe you an explanation.” His voice was calm in a way that shouldn’t sound threatening but did.
She rested the glass gently on the table, taking him in with sceptical eyes. “Where are we?” The words she’d wanted to demand came out feebly. He played it off as though he didn’t notice, but from their last meeting, she figured there was little he didn’t.
He raised an eyebrow in challenge.
She heard a call, a faint voice from the depths of her mind. “...Visanthe?” Savara felt something click inside her, like pieces of a jigsaw snapping into place.
“You remember nothing of this place?”
“What is there to remember? I’ve already told you; I grew up on a small island in the Caribbean. No magic, no powers... though I’m mostly convinced my neighbour Ms Laines is an obeah woman.” Savara held on to the base of her middle finger as she recounted her story. “And yet... this place feels familiar. I want to know why.”
Griffin bobbed his head. “In time.”
“Can anyone in this damned place give me a straight answer?” Savara hissed, tired of dancing around the fact that she had no recollection of this place, or these people, and especially of not knowing who she was and why the only family she’d ever known was now dead.
“Have you always done that?” Griffin asked as his eyes dropped to her hands, watching as they danced around her middle finger.
“I...” Savara looked down at her hands and nodded. She hadn’t even noticed she was doing it until he pointed it out. “Why?”
“Because it would be uncommon for you to attach your stress to an area of the body that holds no importance to you. If, however, that were a spot where your body already recognises some sort of trauma, it might not seem like such a wild behaviour.”
“You’re going to need to explain better than that,” she scoffed, sitting on her hands to stop them from fidgeting.
“Here in Visanthe, there are six nations, each belonging to what we call a ‘power cycle’, and in each, there are a special set of people who can manipulate the elements. The Harri, people of Earth, can mostly move the rocks, soil, and mud around them, though I’ve heard of the rare few that can move lava or sand. The Argia, people of Fire, can control flames, some can manipulate the temperature of said flames, and a rare few can conjure it. The Ur, people of Water, can manipulate the water and its forms. The Zerua, people of Air, can channel currents. The Izar, people of Light, are able to capture and manipulate light from the world around them...” He smirked. “That is a basic explanation of the powers from what I’ve gathered. Enlightened people seem to always find new uses for their powers...”
“And the sixth?”
The lights around them dimmed as he frowned. “As a rule, we don’t talk about them. What little is known speaks of them as creatures of shadow, of nightmares... of blood.”
The cold word slipped with finality from his lips. Savara knew he wasn’t going to expand on the issue, and she knew not to press.
“The abilities we have are not innate, they can between birth and the age of twelve in the form of a small mark like this one,” Griffin continued as he searched for something on one of the many makeshift shelves in the room. He returned with a palm-sized lens which, when placed above his hand, illuminated the markings that branded him Visanthian. The one he referenced was about the size of a fingernail, nestled in the centre of his wrist, and made of seven overlapping circles. It glowed white under the lens.
“At the age of twelve, the children with this symbol are gathered in a ceremony we call Ring Divination, which activates their powers and leaves a scar—a mark of the cycle you are bound to, and thus the powers you receive.” Griffin offered her his hand, which she took cautiously. He raised the lens over her middle finger. In the exact spot she touched when the world didn’t seem quite right, a small, violet circle appeared. “There is no question. You are from here.”
He rested the lens on the table beside them and glossed over one of the scattered maps.
Savara craned her neck to get a better glimpse of it. The map was old, worn, browning in parts, and torn in others, but for the moment it held up. It covered the grand expanse of the world, even going as far as to colour the regions by what she assumed to be power cycles. Initially, Savara counted only five marked regions, or so she thought.
At the topmost centre of it, a portion had been purposely covered by dark, swirling clouds, hiding whatever lay beyond that point. Five regions and a whorl of shadows. Whoever created the map must have wanted to mark the danger of the zone, and if the map was half as old as it seemed, she imagined that generations since its creation had been equally as puzzled by and fearful of what lay beyond as she was.
“The small isle in the middle is a place where time stands still. Where there are no seasons and no changes in weather. And yet, the day the world began to change, it rained,” continued Griffin, grazing the map with his fingertips, “and I don’t believe the two are unrelated.”
“What does all this have to do with me?”
Griffin opened his mouth only to close it again, seemingly at a loss for words. The veil of knowing lifted from his face, softening his features, and revealing someone just as in the dark as she was. Savara preferred this new face, a face that didn’t withhold schemes. This face, she thought, might be worthy of trust. Might. But sadly, it meant he didn’t have the answers she needed. Savara let out a defeated sigh, beginning to regret having come when he spoke up again.
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“In theory, you must have been divined six years ago.”
“Why in theory?”
“I remember every divination from the last fifteen years.” The full intensity of his gaze rested on her now. “I should remember yours, but I don’t.”
“So, you forgot. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“The big deal is... I don’t forget. Something must have happened in the space between your divination and the closing ceremonies... Of course!” he exclaimed, leaving her out of his revelation. “That’s when the rain started.”
Savara furrowed her brow. “I don’t follow...”
“That year, twenty children were set to be divined. I only remember nineteen. For a long time, I’d just assumed I’d heard wrong, but now, I’m not so sure...”
