The Endless Solvent

Ral blinked.

The noise, the movement, the presence of the rest of the people in the cavern crashed into him and the clarity of it all was nearly painful. The feeling that the world was covered in a woolen cloth was ripped away and he had to feel everything all at once.

There were shouts of confusion and the sound of people running into each other. The torches seemed to glow brighter and the eyes of the Somas so stark and bright against the dark back of their eyes. They all quickly realized the Gate had closed and Ral was holding on to a blackened talisman. The pale deformed bodies of the Unseeing dissolved like snow and disappeared into nothingness in the ground.

Everyone was understandably confused, but beyond that Ral was shaken at how incredibly angry they were. It wasn’t simple indignation that it wasn’t one of them who managed to close the Gate but rather some form of hot fury that Ral even existed. They didn’t even dwell on the detail on how he escaped the clutches of ten Somas. He backed away from the furious mass of people until his back pressed against the uneven cavern walls.

He had come too far to die now. He had met a Part, as far as he could tell. Whether or not they were a god or not wasn’t his concern for now. He needed to figure out how to leave. He had found a solution, an answer, he had done something useful for once in his life: that was the real prize for completing the Trial. There was no way he was going to be able to explain that to the group of angry people in front of him.

The respite that Ankle had given him quickly dissolved as the Somas returned to grasp, tear and hurt him. An elbow flashed out and whipped him around the head and his vision exploded into stars. Suddenly he was face first on the ground. He struggled to haul himself into a protective position, arms over his head and letting his back take the brunt of the hits. They were not yet attacking to kill - no, Ral knew they could all kill when they wanted to. They wanted him to hurt.

Someone hauled him back by his hair again and another kicked him in the ribs, breaking them. He was tossed around like a ragdoll within a crowd of angry children. His injured arm hung uselessly by his side, the repeated impact and hits probably dislocating it. The ground smashed into him and he lay there, bleeding out while the blackened talisman tumbled out of his good hand. Dazed, Ral barely noticed that the mob had stopped hitting him. He rolled his head to the side and saw the Somas had parted to let Calkin in.

The blackened talisman had tumbled out of his good hand. There was nothing he could do when Calkin picked it up to inspect it. He tried to protest but his voice couldn’t engage. If only he could speak like Ankle! If only they could hear his words and sense his desperation.

“Stop,” someone said in Yscian. Ral thought he had begun to hallucinate as he swore the voice belonged to Mikol. Breathing weakly, he tried to focus his gaze on the form that appeared next to Calkin. Pale blue eyes, almost gray in color, looked at him with an expression he couldn’t read. They were a color that always reminded him of Aris. “Don’t kill him.”

It was Mikol. Ral tried to say something but he found that he couldn’t move. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move his sun-cursed eyes but he tried to move to look at his friend properly. What was Mikol doing here? Did he really go to the Wisdom to get another talisman? Ral knew he should be relieved but for some reason he found something strange about it.

For months, it was obvious that Mikol and Calkin didn’t get along. They avoided each other, but each time they were forced to interact, they were both pointedly cold towards each other in words and body language. Fighting the urge to just succumb to the darkness that was rapidly encroaching on his vision, Ral tried to concentrate on their words. It was strange hearing them talking to each other.

There was no intentional coldness. In fact, Calkin acted like he expected Mikol to be there.

“I wouldn’t need to if he gave it up,” Calkin said.

“You’re admitting you need more than ten Somas to defeat a Gaian?” Mikol snorted. “That’s stupid.”

“Ah, of course, you were always the smart one,” Calkin said. Ral stared at him weakly on the floor. His tone was almost… affectionate. What was going on? He had a functional knowledge of Yscian and he understood most of the words, but surely he was missing something.

“Three weeks together don’t make us cileemesi,” Mikol said. Ral jolted in shock. Cileemesi was the term Somas used for a committed spouse. Mikol had been with Calkin? “Don’t assume you know everything about me.”

“I know you can be brutal when you wish,” Calkin replied. “That is all I need to know. This Gaian didn’t get the elssonor.”

Ral had no idea what the last word meant, but he got the message well enough. He tried even harder to move, managing to shift his leg slightly but nothing more than that. His whole body felt heavy, as if his flesh was made of stone. Mikol glanced down at him, eyes still expressionless. He had never seen his friend so distant, so neutral, as if he was nothing more than a dead leaf on the ground. “He wasn’t supposed to,” Mikol said smoothly.

“Did Bette teach you how to be so cruel to a lover?” Calkin asked, twirling the blackened talisman in his hand.

“He isn’t my lover.”

“Hm. No need for lies.”

“And Bette would rip out your tongue for saying something like that,” Mikol shrugged. “You don’t believe in the truth.”

“What makes you think I won’t rip out your tongue?” Calkin shot at him. “I hold the holy talisman, the one that closed the doorway. I will be made Champion by holding this.”

“The talisman is mine,” Mikol said. He sounded amused. “I gave it to the Gaian. The markings give indication that it is mine. Has your knowledge in markings failed you so soon?”

Calkin cursed and tossed the talisman over to Mikol, who deftly caught it. “Of course you used the blood-head well,” Calkin scoffed. “As you used the rest of us. You got what you wanted, now pay me.”

Ral thought he must be hearing the words incorrectly. Somehow his injuries were toying with his brain and he wasn’t hearing things correctly. He tried to move, tried to sit up to demand Mikol to tell him what in the sun’s name was he talking about. He was only able to make a few pitiful grunts at his spot on the ground as tears of frustration rolled down the edge of his eyes.

He wanted Mikol to tell him it wasn’t what it looked like. He wanted his friend to assure him they were still friends.

“Your payment…” Mikol’s voice trailed, light blue eyes settling on Ral’s struggling form. They looked cold, distant. It hurt Ral more than his broken bones and bruised bleeding flesh. “After I finish the Trial.”

“Ah, of course, there is one more monster to be dealt with,” Calkin said.

Mikol approached Ral’s side, then crouched next to him. He became very, very still and so seemed like he hummed with energy. “Go to sleep now, Son of Suns,” Mikol murmured in Gaian, expression still cold and distant. “For it is night.”

A blue toned hand stretched over his face. He could still see between the webbing of the fingers and he locked his gaze with Mikol. His pale blue eyes were the last things he saw when he blacked out.