Binary by Jay Caselberg (best short books to read txt) 📖

Jarid reached up to mess his hair and tug at his clothing. Then he stood breathing heavily, waiting for the feet that were already pounding down the corridor.

Aron Ka Vail stood in the doorway of his son's rooms, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. There, on the floor in front of him lay a weapon, tossed aside. The glass shards all over the floor on one side of the room, the hole in the ceiling that his men had pointed to, Jarid standing there and looking clearly as if he'd been in a fight, he saw it all, but still he didn't understand. He leaned heavily on the doorframe reaching out his hand for support. Jarid looked out of breath, but right now, Aron was struggling for breath himself.

"What happened here?"

"It was Markis," said Jarid. "He told me what he planned, and then when I refused to go along with it, he threatened me. And then he ... he shot at me, Father! We struggled�and then he escaped."

Aron, just for a moment, felt the will to live slipping from his grasp. He slumped even more against the door, and then the anger grew within him, hot, undeniable. "He will pay for this," he said quietly.

"Father, no," said Jarid, pleadingly.

Aron held his jaw tightly closed, and then turned to one of the others in the room. "You," he said. "See about getting this mess cleaned up. Jarid, come and sit over here. Tell me what happened."

Jarid's gaze flicked around, glancing at places all around the room, hesitating to meet his father's eye. The boy was visibly shaken. "Come," said Aron. He crossed to couch and sat, patting the space beside him. Screwing his lips tightly together, Jarid nodded and moved to sit beside his father.

"Are you all right?" asked Aron, peering into the boy's face, placing a hand on his thigh.

"Y-yes. I suppose so."

"So tell me."

Jarid started hesitantly at first, but then the words tumbled from his lips.

"Markis came as we had planned, just like I told you. He said that he had everything in place with the Kallathik, and as soon as everything was closed up here and Yarik was properly shut down, he planned to take over the estates. He gave me the choice, said that I could either join with him or face the consequences. He would give me position, title and we could share in the running of things. If not, I'd end up just like you were going to."

Aron sucked air through his teeth. "And what did he mean by that?"

"What do you think he meant? But there's more. He had it all planned out. With Yarik closed, communications out, the Return, it would be easier for him to seize control, and he could do it without word of it getting through to others in time. He was going to start with your seat, then move from there."

Aron felt the anger burning hotter inside him and he barely restrained himself from shouting. "What is this folly? The boy's an utter fool. By the Prophet... No, he cannot get away with it. Tell me. What else?"

"He didn't mention anyone specifically, but he said he had support within the Guilds."

Aron frowned. There was a possibility of collusion, but he needed confirmation. He needed to wait until they had met with Karryl Ky Menin, and then he would decide. "We can't let him get away, Jarid," he said.

"I know. I know. I'm really sorry, Father. I didn't expect�"

"No, Jarid. I am sorry." He reached out a hand and patted the boy gently on the top of his leg. "Don't worry. I am going to make this right. Markis is clearly unfit to hold his position." He looked out into the distance, thinking. "But we have to stop him before he does any real damage. More than he's already done. Thank the First Families that he didn't manage to hurt you. We don't have the resources to track him down."

"No, you're right. But we're meeting with Ky Menin this afternoon. The Guild of Technologists has more at their disposal. We don't know -- perhaps they have something which will help."

"Yes, yes, of course," said Aron. The boy was always so quick. "We will speak to Ky Menin. You're right. In the meantime, I will send some of the men to see if there's any clue where Markis may have been headed. And no, I can't see Ky Menin now. Not now." He motioned to one of his men. "Send word to Ky Menin. Something's come up. I will meet with him out on the estate, the evening after next."

Aron was still staring into the distance. How could it have come to this? Why had he not seen it? He failed to notice the slight self-satisfied quirk to his younger son's lips.

Eighteen

As he eyed the churning muddiness that boiled between its banks, Sandon couldn't help thinking about the current state of his life, of all their lives. The Men Darnak party hugged the river for nearly two weeks en route to their destination before they struck out inland toward the estates of the great and good within the Guild hierarchies. Who could say where all this would lead? Getting close to Men Darnak had not been a problem. Witness Kovaar had soon sought him out personally and suggested, no insisted, that he join them for the meager meals they shared each evening. His constant fear that the priest might penetrate his identity still remained, but as time went on, it seemed less and less of an issue. Each night, Sandon would join them and Kovaar would talk long into the evening about the teachings of the Prophet and lessons to be learned from his words. More than once, he deferred to Tchardo, seeking support for what he'd said. It was just as well Sandon had kept the Book of Words given to him by the old Atavist, and he took to carrying it to their nightly meetings, ready to flick to one reference or another, knowing well by now the passages that Kovaar drew from. In a way, it was yet another proof of who Sandon really was -- Tchardo the Atavist.

The priest fussed around, helping with the preparations of their evening repast, brewing herbal infusions to see the Principal to his rest. There was nothing that gave Sandon any specific cause for alarm. And yet, despite everything, Leannis Men Darnak seemed to be slipping away from them. Gone was the spark; gone was the fire that lit his eyes, the certainty of action. Oh, there were flashes of it, but there were just as many times that Sandon caught the old man staring at him blankly, as if trying to grasp something he'd forgotten. The first time it had happened, Sandon felt the bottom of his stomach drop, but Men Darnak had eventually turned his gaze away, just as devoid of expression as before. He had had the urge, that first time, to blurt out his true identity, to reveal to the old man that he was here, ready and willing to assist, but he held it back. He had to know more, understand what was happening. It was time for Sandon to truly pay Men Darnak back. He would show the Principal that he had been worth the effort. So, he kept quiet and he watched, trying to divine as much as he could.

During the day, Sandon traveled on his cantankerous padder, complaining about the beast nearly as much as the beast itself grumbled about everything. He helped with the camp setup during the evening or its breakdown in the morning. Their progress across the vast, flat, featureless plains was quick enough, but the landscape was mind numbing, the low flat-leafed vegetation giving scant relief to the dull sameness made even duller by the fading orange light. He kept a constant eye out for Men Darnak, but the Principal had taken to riding in one of the more ornate wagons, shielded from view. He saw enough of Witness Kovaar, as the priest would appear throughout the day, riding his own animal, or striding rapidly issuing directions here or there. Once or twice, Sandon caught him watching him with a lingering gaze, but pretended he didn't see, pulling his hood closer about his face. Whatever was going on in the priest's head, he would have sorely liked to know.

As they wound their way past the curves and bends of River Bodrum, Sandon sought out the young man Fran and struck up conversation in order to pass the time. The boy was eager for the tales of Atavist life, of the places far away, and he would listen, his blue eyes wide and a rapt expression on his broad, open face. He would pepper the conversation with questions, wanting to know more, for although he was in Men Darnak's retinue now, this was his first real journey outside his native homestead. Fran came from good farming stock, but had tired of farm life, eager for adventure as a young man often is. He had seen the call to Men Darnak's service as the perfect opportunity to expand his horizons.

Sandon found himself liking the young man, his simple honesty, and he wove him tales of the Atavist lifestyle, even of his time with Milana and Benjo in the bar in Bortruz and how their easy charity had shown them to be the good folk they were. He spoke of the miners too -- how beneath their grime-streaked exteriors, despite the hardships they faced, that they too were simple, honest folk. He had learned much in his time in the bar from the snatches of conversation and the passing arguments. Through it all, Fran listened, always eager, always wanting more. It did more than wile away the time.

As the party headed inland from the river's course, the landscape slowly changed. The broad flatness gave way to slowly undulating hills, and then croplands. The occasional homesteading stood off in the distance, surrounded by expansive fields, now with the primary thrusting shoots of root crops turning the soil and thrusting in long lines, questing for the paltry light from the dancing Twins above. Sandon could see their struggle, see the long, long weeks and months of growth, only to be torn rudely from the soil, stacked and stored in dank cellars all across the countryside.

Gradually, the seasonal fields gave way to more traditional croplands, the grain fields now for the most part lying fallow. His own estates would look like these. Sandon's own holdings could not be too far off. He toyed with his beard as he wondered what had happened to them now. He imagined the estates were still being tended, still functioning, but to whom did they belong? Some distant nephew or cousin would have done well out of Sandon's disappearance, for enough time had passed that clear assumptions would have been already made.

Two days out from their destination, a realization came to Sandon with Leannis Men Darnak's appearance riding in company with Witness Kovaar at the party's head. He noted with great interest that there seemed to be something more infusing the Principal's carriage; he was more erect in his saddle, more assured in his stance; something of the old spark and presence seemed to be back. The Principal looked about himself with an alertness missing over the last few weeks. So, what was it that had brought Men Darnak back to life? There was something plucking at Sandon's memory, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. When he could stand the frustration no more, he headed his padder in Fran's direction, having spied him trudging beside a wagon, keeping an eye on the wheels as he walked.

"Fran," he said.

The young