The Buried Symbol (The Ruins of Issalia Book 1) (2 page)

Two spinning blades, set at a height to decapitate an average man, were swinging on a pole that had dropped from the ceiling. Brock
’
s quick reaction when feeling the tripwire had saved him from a grizzly death. Again, he thanked Issal for the luck that he still lived.

He grabbed a rag from the nearest bench, looping it around his head and tying it tight to stop the bleeding. Ducking under the swinging blades, he warily advanced toward his goal.

The fireplace was made of irregular stones the size of a man
’
s head. Within an arched opening that stood eyelevel to Brock at its apex, a large black kettle occupied the fireplace. He spit on the kettle to test if it was hot. When the saliva did not sizzle, he reached out and touched it. The cast-iron body of the kettle felt cold.

Brock held the glowstick inside the fireplace to inspect the interior. Looking up, he noticed one stone less soot-covered than the others. He nudged the stone with his hand, feeling that it was loose. Twisting his body to grab it with both hands, he wiggled and pulled until the stone came free.

He set it down and reached into the opening to withdraw a small jar. Opening it, he took a sniff to identify the contents. A bitter aroma attacked his senses, making his eyes water and leaving him light-headed. It was Yellow Sky. The presence of the illegal drug confirmed his suspicions: the shop owner was abusing his vocation, creating the addictive drug to sell on the streets of Kantar.

Holding the glowstick high, he peered into the hole to find a dark pouch among six similar jars. Brock replaced the jar and grabbed the pouch. Shaking it, he heard the clinking of coins. He stepped from the fireplace and loosened the drawstring at the top. Peeking in, he saw the sparkle of gold. A satisfied grin spread across his face as he examined his newfound wealth. A startled yelp escaped from his lips when something moved within the sack.

He dumped the contents of the pouch onto the nearest workbench, gold and silver coins spilling-out. A red scorpion emerged from the pile. Brock knew that they were extremely lethal. A single sting would send its victim into seizure, foaming at the mouth. Paralysis would then set in, followed by a slow and painful death.

The upset scorpion scuttled across the bench, crawling into a leather glove. Brock scooped the coins back into the pouch, wondering if the shop owner would be stung when he next used those gloves. If the man was willing to deal with a scorpion, Brock mused, then it was at his own risk.

Retracing his steps through the store, he slid his glowstick into his coat and peeked out the window. With nobody in sight, he slipped out the door and faded into the foggy night.

CHAPTER 2

Light from the rising sun crept westward toward the province of Kantaria. For some time, the peaks of the Brimstone Mountains kept the capital city of Kantar in shadow. Once the sun crested those peaks, the heat from its rays began to burn away the marine layer that had crept in the night before. As if retreating in fear of the light, the wall of white mist slowly faded back toward the ocean.

South of the city, the dissipating fog revealed farmers already tending their crops. Water from the Alitus River flowed from the nearby mountains as it wound its way past the southern outskirts of the city. Sluice gates lining the banks of the river provided a steady flow for irrigation ducts that fed the fields and orchards that stretched toward the southern horizon.

The morning bell tolled, marking the start of a new day. The gates of the city opened to welcome locals and travelers who had gathered in the early morning hours. Some had arrived from the east via Glowridge Pass, while those coming from the south had crossed the bridge over the Alitus River.

To the west was Kantar Bay, the largest harbor on the Indigo Ocean. Two ships were sailing into port while dockworkers lined up with wagons, ready to unload the ships and deliver cargo to the holding yard for distribution. Other ships that had been docked overnight were being loaded with fresh cargo to be delivered to distant ports for sale or trade. The slips closer to shore, where the smaller watercraft docked, sat empty with the local fishermen already off in search of the day
’
s catch.

Inside the walls of Kantar, the streets were coming alive. One of these streets housed businesses tucked along the eastern wall in the district of Lower Kantar. This particular street was least desirable in the city because of the pungent smells coming from the fisheries, tanneries, and metal smelters that operated there. The predominant west winds pushed the unpleasant smells away from the city, toward the mountains to the East. Someone with a flair for ironic humor had named it Flower Street long ago.

As the rising sun crested the eastern wall, a ray of sunlight streamed into the second story loft of one of the tanneries. The sunlight crept down the wall until it shined on a pallet where a brown-haired teen was sleeping. The warmth and light from the incoming sunbeam caused him to stir. Opening his eyes, he rubbed them to work the sleep away. He sat up and looked toward the pallid-skinned woman on the nearby bed.

He leaned over, gently shaking her frail body. After a moment, her eyes flickered open. She blinked as she turned to face him. Though she had seen only twenty-nine summers, she appeared much older.

Her heavy eyes looked at him, focused on the intense green eyes staring back. His disheveled brown hair enhanced his engaging smile.

“
G
‘
morning Ellie,
”
he said softly.
“
How are you feeling?
”

“
Brock,
”
Ellie mumbled,
“
I
’
m so tired
…”
Her weak breath emanated the fetid stench of the disease that racked her body.

Brock reached for a cup resting on the nightstand.
“
Here. Drink some water.
”

He lifted her head with one hand while holding the cup to her mouth. She slowly took a sip. Throughout the process, her gaze never left him. After swallowing, she spoke again.

“
You
’
ve got to get out, Brock. The life of an Unchosen is no life to live,
”
she pleaded.
“
I want so much more for you. Your mother did too.
”

“
What choice do I have, Ellie? It
’
s not like I have options,
”
he said.

Ellie began to cough, clutching her stomach in pain. When the coughing subsided, she spoke again.

“
No, there
’
s a way. I
’
ve heard about this man named Alonzo.
”
She paused for a breath.
“
He can be found at the Aspen Inn, near the Lower Wall gate. He
’
ll need to be paid, but they say he can help you start a new life.
”

She lifted her arm, her hand shaking as it reached out to touch his face. Her eyes locked on his, pleading.

“
Promise me that when I
’
m gone, you
’
ll do this.
”

Ellie
’
s eyes remained on Brock, waiting for his response. Another round of coughing spoiled the moment.

When she quieted, he responded,
“
Nothing
’
s going to happen to you Ellie. I had a good night. I now have enough money to pay a medicus to come see you.
”

Her eyes had closed while he spoke. He tried to get her to take another drink, but she was unresponsive. If not for the slight movement of her chest rising and falling, she could be a corpse.

She wasn
’
t doing well, but he could save her. Nobody had saved his mother years ago. Brock couldn
’
t let that happen again. He now had the money he needed, but he didn
’
t have much time. She was getting worse every day. After kissing her forehead, he began to dress.

He slipped into his worn brown trousers and his over-sized leather boots. Grabbing a light-brown shirt with torn armpits, he pulled it over his head and climbed to his feet. From a hook on the wall, he grabbed the thigh-length leather coat that held his knife, glowstick, and lock picks. He pulled the coat on as he ran to the stairwell.

When he descended into the tannery, he saw his father busy treating a sheet of leather. As usual, the man was well into his work before Brock woke. The pungent smell filled the room. After being around the smell for seventeen years, Brock was far past being affected.

His father was of average height with a balding head of sparse brown hair. He wore heavy leather gloves and a tanner
’
s smock to protect him from the treatment chemicals. The man glanced up from his work, noticing Brock.

“
It
’
s about time you got up, boy.
”
His father always called him
boy
.
“
I thought you were going to waste the whole day away.
”

Brock knew enough not to be confrontational, instead focusing on what was important.

“
She
’
s not doing well, Pa. She needs help.
”

His father glanced toward him again. His brow furrowed, distorting the
Artifex Humis
rune that marked his forehead.
“
Well, be that as it may, I
’
ve no means to help your aunt Ellie. If it
’
s her time, hopefully she
’
s done enough good in this life that Issal will bless her in the next.
”
He then turned back to the hide he was treating.

Brock tried again.
“
If you don
’
t have anything pressing for me right now, I want to see if I can find someone to help her.
”

His father continued to work the hide as if he hadn
’
t heard a word. After a minute, he relented.

“
Go on and do what you think you need to do.
”

Brock hurried out the door before his father changed his mind.

CHAPTER 3

Weaving through the crowd, Brock
’
s feet moved him as quickly as possible without running. He didn
’
t want to attract the attention of the city guards, not with all the gold he was carrying.

Minutes later, he turned from Alistair Avenue onto Center Street and the foot traffic thickened. The smell from the bakery he passed caused his stomach to rumble, reminding him that he had yet to break his fast.

Continuing upward as the street
’
s slope increased, he passed numerous shops and vendors. Farmers were selling fruit and vegetables off the back of wagons. Butchers offered their best cuts of meat. Tailors were displaying garments for sale.

Melvin, who often purchased hides from Brock
’
s father, was placing a pair of black leather boots in his shop window. Brock paused to stare in the window, longing for a new pair of boots to replace the oversized pair he wore now.

A fast-approaching rumble broke him from his reverie. Turning his head, Brock saw a steam carriage roaring toward him. He dodged to the side as it sped past and continued down the hill toward Southgate.

Staring at the rear of the coach as it rolled on, he wondered what it would be like to ride in such an amazing contraption. He would never know since only the wealthy could hope to afford one.

He turned as a man rudely ran into him, knocking him back.

“
Watch where you
’
re going, you filthy Unchosen.
”

Brock didn
’
t want trouble. He gave a small bow.

“
Sorry, sir. It was my fault. Won
’
t happen again.
”

The man sneered at him as he walked away. Brock stared at the man
’
s back for a moment before moving along. He soon approached the wall that separated Lower Kantar from Upper Kantar. He glanced up at the brick barrier towering above as he passed through the gate. The other side of the wall revealed a district far different from the one below.

The wide clean streets and elegant buildings of Upper Kantar were a stark contrast to the dirty streets and dilapidated buildings that prevailed in Lower Kantar. Only Center Street and Alistair Avenue largely escaped these issues.

His gaze landed on the citadel, looming above the city. The bright sun made the stone towers appear like pale sentinels watching over the people of Kantar. Light reflected off the stained glass panels of the Citadel Temple
’
s domed roof. With the backdrop of vertical rock walls behind the citadel, the image was impressive.