Unseen Secrets

  Unseen Secrets

  By

  S. B. Sebrick

  Unseen Secrets: Book One of the Shattered Realms Series

  Copyright © 2014 by Golden Bullet Publishing

  All rights reserved. All similar appearance to other works or people are coincidental.

  Cover Art by Seth Bennett

  Edited byViAnn Prestwich

  A Golden Bullet Publishing Novel

  PO Box 451

  Brush Prairie, Wa 98606

  www.goldenbulletpublishing.com

  Electronic Edition: November 2014

  Printed in the United States of America

  Author’s Forward

  Special thanks to my friends and family. Thanks to my local writing group for helping me hone my craft. Special thanks to Dr. Rita Carey, who helped me to find my voice. Thanks to Randy and DiAnne for their continued involvement in my career.

  I’d especially like to extend a special thanks to those of you reading this book. Without your support, stories like these would not see the light of day.

  Thank you.

  Also by S. B. Sebrick

  www.sbsebrick.com

  http,//www.goldenbulletpublishing

  Assassin’s Rising Series

  Decoy

  Dismay

  Defiant

  Desolate

  Dire

  Deliverance

  Shattered Realms

  Unseen Secrets

  Splintered Loyalties

  Persuader's Might (coming soon)

  Related Short Stories

  Fate of the Child

  Betrayal

  Other Short Stories

  Revenge to Redemption

  Binding Trial

  Battle for Dominance

  Lucian’s Trial

  Outcast of the Flame

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 29

  Sample chapter of 'Splintered Loyalties'

  Subscribe to S. B. Sebrick's Newsletter

  Assassin's Rising

  About the Author

  Other Titles

  Prologue

  Thick wisps of evening fog oozed through the streets of Issamere like ethereal tentacles, clearly visible from Nariem's perch atop his home in the Forger's district. The whole street bustled with apprentices, messengers, merchants and carts of supplies, but Nariem did not even hear them. The ceramic cup of honey ale in his hand lay forgotten. His attentions were wholly fixed on his son, two stories below.

  Soon, they would try to kill him.

  Keevan sat at a small table outside their home, savoring a bite of roast duck with a content smile. His unkempt hair and mud-speckled skin gave him an untamed appearance as he tore another bite of meat free with his teeth. Nariem chuckled, his adopted son was a vast store of surprises. You wouldn't think this street urchin of a boy, at only fifteen, could speak three languages and retained nearly every fact he ever read.

  If only those gifts could save him. But among the Children of the Sky, the ability to command the elements reigned supreme. If you could draw water to your hair at a mere thought, or summon fire to your hand in a spurt of rage, the city's leaders would welcome you into their good graces. Even the legless beggar on the distant street corner wielded some elemental powers. Nariem's son though, true to his Outlander heritage, carried absolutely none.

  Keevan glanced towards the apprentices across the street, his brown eyes taking on a light blue glow as he watched them gather an order of fresh tools. As a Sight Seeker, his eyes could shift from one plane of vision to another, a power only Outlanders possessed. Unfortunately for Keevan and for reasons unknown, he could only see one—the elemental plane. He couldn't command any of the elements therein, only see them.

  "What do you see, my son?" Nariem wondered aloud, scratching his thick beard. "The heat of the forges surely, connected to the smithies by their anger. The moisture in the air as well, drawn by the focus of the apprentices. Maybe you even see traces of electricity from the fear among the newest members, afraid of their next mistake."

  Nariem sighed, looking up at the city around him. "I would trade all of that and your eyes, if you could only light a candle with your fingers. A blind Tri-Being with some elemental powers would have a place here, albeit as a beggar. But you can't harness the elements, only see them. How are Masha and I to help you? It's so hard to tell what you're feeling with only your facial expressions to go on. Even the lowborns bring some elements into the mix, showing their feelings in sparks or glowing heat."

  The passerby who noticed Keevan's eyes slowed their steps, smithies paused at their work, and a young messenger lost his footing at the unexpected distraction. Nariem watched through gritted teeth as the smithies and forgers looked back on Keevan with glowing red hands as their anger stirred. Nariem saw similar expressions in the eyes of the passerby. They just weren't powerful enough for their anger to yield such visible effects.

  Their reactions weren't lost on Keevan, who lowered his gaze and let his eyes return to their usual dull brown. He rubbed his arms as if touched by an unexpected chill, suddenly appearing smaller and more fragile. A few of the larger apprentices halted their work, watching Keevan like alley cats anxious to pounce on a lingering rat. They glanced up and saw Nariem watching, then returned to their duties, fuming.

  "If only I were always here to protect you," Nariem sighed. The people's hate was not so much the fault of the people themselves as it was the product of years of anti-Outlander propaganda. The Harbor Guild worked tirelessly to keep Outlanders from the knowledge of Issamere's existence.

  For countless generations, every Outlander ship the Harbor Guild encountered was met with flame and lightning. Then, the Scholars of Issamere commandeered a single vessel and returned with an Outlander child, Keevan. The sole survivor of a fierce storm, the academics of Issamere didn't have the heart to kill so vulnerable and potentially useful a creature. The Malik agreed with them. The child lived.

  For fifteen years, Nariem and Masha raised him. They kept him close, taught him various languages, history, and what trade skills he could manage without elemental powers of his own. But those blissful days of youth were drawing to an end, and Nariem couldn't bring himself to tell his son just yet. Surely, it was no great sin to leave his son with one more evening of hope?

  Footsteps behind him drew a scowl to Nariem's lips. The steps were old, dragging against the stone. Small bells chirped from the folds of her dress as she approached from the rear stair case.

  "Varta," Nariem hissed, keeping his back to her. He squeezed the handle of his cup so hard it shattered, sprinkling a passerby below with broken fragments and sticky ale. The hair on his arms stood on end, sparks of electricity flying between them, but he didn't care about the Suadan Priestess seeing his fear. He turned and faced her with a nervous gulp. "I assume the Council has spoken?"

  "After a fashion," Varta admitted. The years, like some farmer’s plow, had dug deep wrinkles into her withered face. She walked with the slow, deliberate pace of someone whose body couldn't quite keep up anymore, but her eyes shined with awareness and c
larity. Dozens of small brass bells hung from the hems of her dress, announcing her arrival and her rank for all to hear.

  Though her face was expressionless, Nariem could feel the heat radiating from her. He chuckled. As a Suadan Priestess, her command of water was unparalleled, but fire still occasionally betrayed the anger she sought to hide. He relaxed a bit, leaning against the waist-high wall lining his roof. "They've decided against killing him, then? The Harbor Guild couldn't gather enough support."

  "For now," Varta mussed, walking to the edge of the roof and looking down on Keevan herself. "The Malik wishes to find some use for the boy. His Scholars keep insisting Keevan's potential outweighs the risks of keeping him alive."

  "Potential for what?"

  "Wish I knew," Varta grumbled. "Then this farce would make more sense."

  "He's just a boy and powerless besides," Nariem offered carefully, suddenly feeling out of place and vulnerable. It was no accident Varta arrived now, while Masha was still out. Fencing with words and sorting out motivations was Masha's gift, not his. Give him a piece of slag to hammer away at, or leather to shape and he felt in control. Here, dealing with a Suadan Priestess, he felt anything but 'in control.'

  "Powerless?" Varta said, cackling suddenly. Her bells tinkled in the air as she trembled with laugher. A sharp, wicked sound that rang in his ears. "There are many kinds of power, Nariem. The boy mere existence instills fear in people."

  "The Harbor Guild instills an illogical fear of Outlanders in the people," Nariem countered, raising a finger of caution. "That is the only reason they remain on the council, they have no other real purpose. You are just like them, terrified of my son. Yet, my boy had nothing to do with your son's failure against the Outlanders at the Undying Storm. I'm sorry he lost his ship and his rank, but you best leave my boy out of your vendetta. He's done no one wrong in all his years here."

  Varta plowed ahead as if she'd not heard him at all. "Some are asking if the Malik is putting the city at risk, keeping an Outlander in our streets instead of in a stone cell. What if he seeks to return to his kind, or bring them here? What if his powers develop more fully? Some see it as foolishness, others a sign of weakness. Only a select few see it as a strength."

  "One of those few is the Malik himself," Nariem sighed in relief, rubbing the fatigue from his eyes. "The man commands all of Issamere. I'd say his word is good enough to guarantee Keevan's safety."

  "That is not what the Malik offered this morning," Varta said, folding her arms like some ancient sentinel, dealing out righteous judgment. Her wide, leathery grin gave Nariem the impression she meant to swallow him whole. Or, his hope at least.

  Nariem shuddered, feeling the hair on his arms rise again. "Speak plainly, Priestess. What did the council decide?"

  Varta smiled. "The boy will be Ranked, like any other child of Issamere."

  Nariem's enthusiasm flickered and failed. He grit his teeth, standing a head taller than the wizened second in Suada's Temple. "What fool's errand is this?" He challenged. "Those Rankings are for Tri-Beings, Varta. They decide a person's rank based on their elemental abilities."

  "-and Keevan has none," Varta finished. Though she stood resolute, a few sparks flickered across her hair and she took in Nariem's thick frame, muscles hard-pressed in years of labor and ham-sized hands the size of her head.

  "They'll mark him as something below a lowborn," Nariem said, "like a dog you give table scraps out of pity."

  "But he'll be a live dog, for now. Perhaps a scribe, or a money-changer, or a singer even," Varta added with a shrug, feigning innocence. "One day though, The Malik will grow bored of him, and no one would cry over a dead dog. The city is full of them."

  "Have a care, Varta," Nariem growled, lowering his arms. Anger surged through his veins, illuminating his hands with a blood red glow. His skin sang with pain, but the thought of Keevan dead at his feet buried all else. He longed to put his son's enemies in their place—their family crypts.

  "Nariem..." The Priestess said uneasily, taking a step back. Her bells chimed softly, as if echoing her own doubts. "You're close to burning out your hands. A handless smithy can't help his son. Can't even command fire effectively. Calm down"

  "Consider this a reminder, Varta," Nariem seethed, reaching forward. The air around him warped with gathered heat. "Smithies are some of the strongest fire-commanders you'll ever find. If you threaten my boy ever again..."

  "You'll what?" Varta spat a laugh, recovering a hint of her courage. She grinned wickedly. "You'll kill me? The council would imprison your entire family for touching a Suadan Priestess, no matter Masha's friends."

  Nariem glanced at the wall, thinking of Keevan sitting at his meal. The Priestess was right. This was why Masha was so much better at politics than he. What would she do in his shoes? What would Masha say? He glanced down at his glowing hands and back at Varta, grinning. Marrying a Suadan had its advantages.

  "No, Priestess, you misunderstand. I wouldn't kill you," Nariem admitted, flexing and opening his hands. "But I would take your head in my hands and scorch you to the bone. A maimed head impedes control of water, just as a deformed hand prevents control of fire."

  "I...I...I..." Varta stuttered, her skin paling visibly.

  "Wounding a Priestess would earn me a month in the dungeons, nothing more," Nariem admitted with a grin. "But if I did enough damage, your control of water would never be the same. Suada forgive me, but I daresay only scribes, money changers or singers at a grotessery would accept your services."

  Varta gulped, side stepping until the rear stairs lay directly behind her. With an exit near at hand, her courage flared up again. "You dare threaten me? I'm second only to the High Priestess."

  "You threatened my son first," Nariem chuckled, his arms finally dimming as he reigned in his rage. Masha's mind was surprisingly devious and not for the first time he felt glad he'd listened to her venting her frustrations. "Now, get off my roof. My son and I have work to do."

  Varta fled like morning dew before the rising son. Nariem's anger faded into an ever-present anxiety as he heard her bells die away into the distance. He returned to his spot on the wall, looking down on Keevan. The boy smiled lazily, his eyes closed, as he soaked in the heat of the setting sun.

  "They mean to starve you, my son," Nariem muttered, trying to envision how their conversation would go. Keevan smiled at some wayward thought, causing Nariem's heart to ache. Once Keevan learned the truth, safety and peace would be just a memory.

  "They mean to cut you off from this city's powerful and elite," Nariem said, testing the words on his tongue. "They will sweep you into the darkest corner they can find and leave you in a hole until they've proved your uselessness to the Malik and come for you," Sparks danced along his hair and down his back, birthing another rush of anger and heat into his hands.

  "We have to show this city what you can do, and soon," Nariem decided. He controlled the temperature this time, steadying his breathing and his heart rate as he did in the forge. Varta was right about one thing, burning out a limb wouldn't help his son at all. Hunger gnawed at him now, a side effect of pushing his elemental abilities so far.

  "I know you haven't realized what you're capable of yet, my son. They haven't either," Nariem muttered, glancing from one hurrying Tri-Being to the next. Rhetans, lowborns in tattered wool and linens hurried south towards their homes on the city's outskirts. Haldrans, midborns like Nariem, closed up their shops and locked their doors.

  "I wish we could teach you, but we're no Sight Seekers. You have to find the will to pursue this path on your own. You must learn fast, if you are to survive, but then the Harbor Guild may try killing you out right. An impotent Outlander they will leave untouched, for a time," Nariem sighed, staring westwards toward the Harbor District and the Suadan Temple. "But one like you... they'd happily kill for caution's sake alone."

  With a groan of frustration he turned away from the wall. He paced back and forth, running his fingers through his hair. Ther
e were no safe answers. No simple solution could spare his only son. Leaving his child powerless would only stall the inevitable end, Varta had the right of that one as well.

  Keevan's only other choice was a risky one. They had to find a way to make his Sight valuable, immensely so, and soon. All of Keevan's life however, his peers taught him to restrain his Sight and try to blend in. It would take something captivating and beautiful, something irresistible, to set Keevan on the path of self-discovery.

  A passing thought caught hold in Nariem's mind. He snapped his fingers in gleeful realization and hurried down the rear staircase. The stone steps thudded against his sore feet, tired from the day at the forge, but he felt none of his fatigue. It was an expensive plan. The item would cost six months of Nariem's wages and set back his plans on expanding his forge, but such an item was rare enough to warrant attention. Yes, perhaps such a mystery would prompt Keevan to pursue his powers more aggressively.

  "Master Blacksmith, is Keevan home?" a trim girl asked when he reached the foot of the stair. Her mud-smeared clothing and disheveled hair deceptively hid her bright eyes, always aware and watching. She held her hands behind her back innocently, peering up at him with an imploring expression. "We were to play kick-the-stone, but I was delayed."

  "Keevan hasn't played kick-the-stone since he was seven years old," Nariem chuckled, examining her the way he studied at a piece of raw iron. Of all Keevan's peers, she remained his only true friend. Though only a Rhetan and elementally weak, she was fiercely loyal. Also, one did not survive on the streets of Issamere without a certain amount of speed, wit and an understanding of people.

  "I don't care about whatever mischief you're in, Bahjal," Nariem offered carefully, folding his thick arms around his burly chest. His arm hair stood on end, but he managed to reign in his fear before sparks manifested. His list of allies was a short one indeed. Regardless, Keevan's life depended on them. "But, I need your help with something. Keevan's in trouble and he doesn't know it yet."

  The street Rhet sighed, glancing over her shoulder. The tip of the Harbor Guild's Headquarters glittered at them in the distance, peeking up above the Etrendi district's walls. "We're lucky they let him alone this long. How can I help?"